Crossroads
by Baeraad
Summary: A Sidhe knight, who has turned from hero to villain without any clue how that happened, and a Kinain sorcerer apprentice, who is a wanted man and knows all too well how that happened, gets sent on a mission that is too all appearances suicidal...
1. Chapter 1

_So… why am I starting a new story when I've already gone on that I have yet to finish the second chapter of?_

_Uhm_… _because I'm a moron! A total moron!_

_Well, that, and sometimes I'm just too weak to write what I should write instead of the idea that seems the clearest in my mind. Either way, here's a couple of brand new characters that I hope you'll enjoy… and I _will _get around to continuing _Reign of Law _soon. Honestly I will._

---

It had come as a complete surprise to Jameel Johnson that he was an early riser. When you had spent your entire life in a house in which there had been at all times at least one small child, waking up early in the morning wasn't a natural inclination, it was just a practical inevitability. But look, here he was at college, in a dorm full of sleepy students, and he was up at the crack of dawn, bright-eyed and bushytailed.

Every morning, Jameel walked around to each of the entrances of the house. At every one of the doors, he stopped and sang a song beneath his breath. He varied the songs depending on the day and what he felt like – it didn't do to let your Arts go stale, after all. But all the songs he had to choose from were old and strange, hailing from a time when the horizon had seemed a lot nearer.

And he sang up the wards around the house.

And he sang horrible doom to any evil-doer who sought to enter.

And he sang the safety of everyone who dwelled within the walls, including – hello, ulterior motive! – himself.

Because Jameel Johnson knew that they were out to get him, and while he could only blame himself for that, he had no intentions of letting them take him. He had a life to live and debts to repay and responsibilities to live up to, and anyone who tried to stop him from doing any of that would face the full wrath of his carefully assembled Arts.

When he had finished the warding, he went back to his room, lay down on the bed, and took up his course books. He had gotten halfway through _Elementary Business Sense_ by now. For someone who never had time to attend the lectures, he thought he had a pretty good grasp of the subject. The midterms would be the judge of that, of course.

After an hour or so, his roommate, Roland Matthews, stirred. He fumbled for his glasses on the nightstand, put them on, and glared at Jameel over in the other bed.

"You're _humming_," he complained.

Jameel caught himself. Yes, he supposed he had been. The melody for this morning's spell-song had gotten stuck in his head.

"Sorry," he said. "Good morning."

"Meh." Roland shook his head. "How can you be in such a good mood in the morning?"

"Clean living," Jameel said sagely.

"Bah." Roland swung his feet over the side of the bed and staggered unsteadily over to the fridge. He rummaged through it for something vaguely edible. "So what clean things are you doing today?"

Jameel sighed.

"With my luck, probably mucking out the Lord Regent's stables," he said. "I don't have much choice except to take whatever crappy job he offers, seeing as if I don't keep the Glamour flowing my way, the Shadow Court is going to nail my ass to the wall."

Roland gave him a scrutinising look.

"Yes," he said at long last. "Yes, that made exactly as much sense as the answers I usually get. Is this some kind of elaborate joke on my expense?"

Jameel gave him his most innocent look.

"Who, me?" he said. "On my mother's grave, Roland. Not a word crosses my lips that isn't entirely one hundred percent honest-to-God truth."

"Uh-huh."

"Well, you know. Sometimes I spruce them up a bit to make them more interesting."

"Uh-_huh_. And your mother's alive, Jameel. I _met_ her once."

"Yeah, but she has a grave," Jameel said. "Standing ready for her, like. Long story."

"Your family is weird," Roland said flatly. "_Especially _you."

"Thank you. We aim to mystify."

---

Lately, it had started to seem to Jenny that there was precious little use to getting up in the morning.

Because frankly, what was there to do? Watch TV? Check on the prisoner for the thousandth time? Practice sword exercises, and never mind the fact that she could do all of them in her sleep? To be honest, the only reason she could find to get out of bed was to silence the demands of her stomach, her bladder, or Mary-Kate, in no particular order. Great stars, but the little girl had a resounding voice. She'd make a fine battle commander one day, assuming she ever took an interest in the deadly arts. And assuming Broch suffered her to live that long.

The idea that she, Jenny, would probably eventually be called upon to execute a nine-year-old girl was enough to make her burrow her face deeper into the pillow and try to go back to sleep.

_I was a hero once. Wasn't I? I slew dragons and Thallain and nasty creepy-crawlies from the Dark Dreaming. How the fuck did I get mixed up in _politics

"Lady Mennavere…" a small voice said from the other room.

"No…" Jenny mumbled and pulled the cover over her head.

"Lady Mennavere…" Louder this time.

"Five more minutes, damn it…" Jenny whined.

"It's time for breakfast, Lady Mennavere."

That was the annoying thing with Mary-Kate. Well, one of the many, many annoying things with her, at least. She never said she wanted anything. She just pointed out that it was right and proper that she receive it.

Angrily, Jenny threw the cover across the room and got up. The tower room was icy cold; it was in the middle of winter, and Broch hadn't gotten around to having someone get central heating up here yet. Apparently television was easier for the Nockers. The screen had a kind of tacky Glamour about it that they could tap into and use for introducing it to this mostly chimerical building. Heating, on the other hand, was nothing people had ever thought very much about.

Jenny pulled her hands through her silvery-golden hair and yawned. She was sleeping in shorts and a T-shirt, these days. Back a few weeks ago, when she had still shared the tower with the two studly young men Broch had – honour where honour was due – provided for her, she had worn a very sexy satin nightgown for bed. In the end, even sex had gotten boring, though. The guys had been nice and all, but having people around who were so Sovereigned out of their minds that they only wanted to please you wasn't all it was cracked up to be – just a fancy form of masturbation, when you got right down to it.

So she had sent Brad and Tad – or was it Chad? She couldn't remember – back to Broch, and after that she had given up even the pretence of caring for her appearance. She wasn't sure when she had even brushed her hair last. And she was noticing that she still had jam stains on her fingers after her last donut pig-out.

Of course, she _was_ a Sidhe. Hence, her complete disregard for her own appearance gave her the kind of I'm-so-confident-in-my-sexiness-that-I-don't-even-have-to-bother look that most women would kill for. The fact that her self-abuse wasn't even hurting her just made her existence feel even more pointless.

Gruffly, she made a couple of sandwiches, put them on a trey, opened a hatch in the door to Mary-Kate's cell and held the trey out for the girl's acceptance. A pair of small, petite and very well-manicured hands took the trey off of her.

"Thank you, Lady Mennavere," the girl said formally. Jenny caught a glimpse of her as she went back to her table, a slim, golden-haired little girl that radiated enough saccharine cuteness that she probably should not be allowed near diabetics.

"Spare me, Mary-Kate," Jenny snarled. "And it's _Jenny_, okay? Or Miss Brissington, if you have to. Don't call me Mennavere."

"It's your name, though," Mary-Kate pointed out. "Just like I'm _Malenna_, you might recall…"

"You can be Malenna if you like." Jenny slammed the hatch shut. "I'm not Mennavere, though. Know how I know that?"

"No, my Lady," Mary-Kate (okay, okay, Malenna, then) said humbly. "How do you know that?"

"Because Mennavere was a hero." Jenny lay back down in her bed and stared at the ceiling. "Lady Mennavere ap Fiona fought the bad guys. Jenny Brissington _works_ for the bad guys." She closed her eyes. "And how the fuck that happened, I'm still trying to figure out…"

---

Dougal had been rumoured to be a nice city when Jameel had chosen to go to college there. In all due fairness, it probably had been, at the time. There had been some kind of war over the summer, something big and complicated that the Johnsons' Sidhe relatives hadn't wanted to talk about, and when the dust settled, the Duchy of Howling Winds had been in possession of a whooping _thirty Freeholds_ within the city limits alone. Dougal had turned into the land of milk and honey. Glamour was flowing, the Dreaming was close, Winter had never seemed more distant.

But things had gone wrong right from the start. Changelings were swarming in from all over the country, eager for a piece of the action – and a lot less eager for accepting the law laid down by the Duke at the Freehold of the Singing Sapphire. The duchy had fallen into chaos. There had been a brief time when it seemed that the Duke might get things back into working order, but then he had fallen ill, and anarchy had run rampant.

Then the Duke had died, and things had gotten _really_ out of hand…

Jameel made his way to the Freehold of the Singing Sapphire in good order. The place had been a colonial mansion once. Now, it was a ruin of crumbling wood and shattered glass, surrounded by a snow-covered garden that had turned into a jungle. Just another example of old riches fallen on hard times.

For someone who had the sight, the truth was a bit more complicated. The house was a ruin, yes, but it wasn't crumbling; it practically radiated stubborn health. Strange creatures made the high grass of the garden their home, allowing themselves to be glimpsed briefly as Jameel walked down the frost-covered path to the front door. And from inside the broken windows, a red glow pulsated.

The door had a wrought iron knocker – a rather tasteless way of informing visitors just how welcome they were. Jameel didn't have any trouble with cold iron, though. He lifted it and knocked twice.

_Benefit of not having an ancient spirit of magic stuck in my head. I don't get their allergies._

Of course, he had to admit, if he had been a real changeling, he wouldn't even have needed to be here. He could have taken his Glamour from the mind of any Dreamer that crossed his path.

_Not that there's that many unspoiled Dreamers left in Dougal._

The man who opened the door was so small and wizened that he hardly looked human. He might have been some kind of chimpanzee in a dirty coat. He blinked near-sightedly at Jameel, like the light of the crisp winter morning was hurting his eyes.

"What?" he said.

"It's me, sir," Jameel said. "Jameel Johnson, sir. I just wanted to see if his Lordship had any work for me today."

"Hr. Hr. Work. Hr." The little man shook his head. "I suppose we can find you something. Don't just stand there, come in!"

Jameel stepped inside. It was shockingly hot in there; after the wintry chill outside, it felt like walking into a furnace.

"Well, come alone. Come along. Hr. Haven't got all day," the little man said and hurried off deeper into the mansion. The inside of the building was in better repair than the outside, or perhaps just more deeply mired in the Glamour reality that restored it to its all splendour. The carpets and paintings and furniture all looked worn and well-used, but hardly anything was broken. The light came from candles and torches, all of which burned with an ominous red glare.

They passed people on the way, guards clad in leather and metal, servants clad in rags, courtiers clad in faded finery from half a dozen different centuries. Some of them greeted Jameel's surly guide, but none of them paid any attention to Jameel himself. He was no changeling, just the descendant of one; _Kinain_, not _Kithain_; a distant relative, not a member of the family.

"We're going through the throne hall," the little man said sternly. "Hr. Don't you bother the Lord Regent!"

Jameel accepted that completely unwarranted rebuke with silence. He had been taken to his first court function when he was five. But Mercher always insisted on treating him like he was some kind of unruly halfwit. The man didn't even cause a blip on the radar screen in the Freehold, he was just one of a number of faceless servants, but he was a changeling and Jameel was not.

_I could whistle, and his boots would sprout roots and bind him to the floor. I could kiss his cheek, and he would forget his own name. I could reach into my sleeves and pull out fire and lightning to smite him with…_

And the moment he did, Jameel knew, Broch would at the very least make it impossible for him to find work in the Duchy of Howling Winds, and at worst… well, Jameel didn't kid himself. He might have delved deeper into the arts arcane than most full changelings ever bothered to do, but he wasn't a real sorcerer, not yet. Broch, on the other hand, was – not to mention the fact that he owned the fealty of a number of other ones, as well as dozens of men-at-arms.

_So swallow your pride, matey. These people hold all the cards. But oh, for the days of good old Drackus. They were at least _polite _to me when he was in charge…_

The throne hall was lit mainly by the roaring firing in its centre. Around it was gathered a motley crew of men and women, standing in groups and whispering among themselves or standing alone and watching the others. And high above it all, on a great dais, on a tarnished gold chair, sat Broch, Lord Regent of Howling Winds, and dispensed his brand of justice.

His naked – but seemingly genderless – body filled the chair. In fact, the outlying areas of Broch bulged over the sides and hung down towards the floor, like he was half-liquid. His face was a grey dough, almost void of distinguishing marks. It seemed impossible that he might ever be able to rise, or even be moved from his seat of power. It seemed impossible that he could even live, that his heart could survive being buried in all that lard. But live he did, and rule the duchy with an iron fist. No more the days of gentle diplomacy under Drackus; anyone who opposed Broch suffered the wrath of his spells and his blades.

"On you go. On. Hr. In here." Mercher pulled Jameel into another corridor and into a small room. "We were hoping you would come, hr. We have use for you. Yes. You have a slight gift for magic. And you're expendable. Hr."

"Pardon me for saying this, sir," Jameel said, "but _I_ don't think I'm expandable. And I've got parents who're expecting me to finish college and starting bringing in the big bucks so they can afford to send my siblings to college, too!"

Mercher gave him a blank look.

"You know?" Jameel said. "Them being _people_, and all? In the sense of having feelings and needs and stuff? Despite not being changelings?"

"Hr. Stop talking nonsense," Mercher said.

Jameel sighed.

"Yes, sir."

"It's Josey," Mercher said. "We want him dead. Hr. Yes. Soon."

"Old Josey?" Jameel blinked. "You want me to duel _Old Josey_? Isn't he supposed to be, you know, all-powerful? The endless thorn in Broch's side who defies all attempts of disposing of him?"

Mercher gave him a contemptuous look.

"Well, we don't expect you to do it _alone_."

"Oh." Jameel laughed. "You made me nervous there for a moment."

"You'll be accompanied by a knight."

"A knight." Jameel struggled for words. "One knight? Me and one knight. Against Old Josey. And all his merry men, I'm guessing. Those kids who calls themselves the Wildlings? And whatever else he's got up his sleeve. Me and a knight. Against that."

"Yes."

"So this knight… he's expandable too, right?" Jameel said.

"The Lady Mennavere's attitude lately has been found wanting," Mercher said.

"Uhm… how shall I put this?" Jameel said. "Ahem. 'No.' No, I shall not venture out and boldly get myself killed by a crazy rebel sorcerer. No, verily, I shall not have my frail body torn to pieces by a bunch of homicidal faun brats. Nay, I say to thee, no fucking way am I going to lay down my life for the greater glory of Broch. No. Nope. Uh-uh. Forget it. Ain't gonna happen. Absolutely out of the question. Don't even think about it. _No_."

"Hrrrrr. Then I'll tell his Lordship that you attempted to rob and kill me," Mercher said. "Who do you think he'd believe, me or some, hr, half-breed?"

Jameel gaped.

"You little shit," he said tonelessly. "Broch has nothing to do with this. This is you trying to score points. If I succeed, you win. If I don't, big deal." He caught himself. "No, that doesn't add up. You couldn't command a ducal knight on your own…"

"Hr. I'm sure you'll reason it out eventually," Mercher said condescendingly. "Meanwhile, I suggest you hurry on down to the Solitary Tower so you and Mennavere can get to work. She's already been notified."

Jameel was not one to waste his time fuming. Mercher had screwed him. That was the situation, and protesting it wouldn't get him anywhere. Already, his mind was hard at work trying to figure out a way to get through this alive.

"How much time do we have?" he said. "Finding Josey might not be quick work."

"All the time you need," Mercher said with a shrug. "You just won't get paid until you bring us his head."

That took Jameel aback.

"I'm running on a half-empty tank already!" he protested. "How am I supposed to be any good if I run out of Glamour?"

"Succeed fast, then. Before you run out of Glamour. Hr." Mercher smirked. "Of course, if you lay Josey's horned head before Lord Broch's feet, I wouldn't be surprised if he grants you a Freehold of your own."

"Well, that's nice." Jameel poked Mercher in the chest. "But if I ever find myself in a position to screw you over good and proper…"

"I'll take my chances. Get to work, half-breed."

---

"A guy?" Jenny's voice went up a notch. "Coming _here_? _Now_?" She paused and grasped for straws. "Is he cute?" she said. "Please tell me he's not cute."

Gretta gave her the somewhat haunted look of a little girl finding herself face to face with a frantic knight. She was a very ugly little girl, her skin pasty-white like a corpse's, her hair black and listless and hanging around her face like seaweed.

"Idon'tknowmylady!" she said, very fast and very quietly.

"What?" Jenny sighed. It was, perhaps, understandable that Broch favoured his own Kith. The good Dreaming knew he had precious few loyal friends in the world. But why did he have to make a shy twelve-year-old girl his emissary? Wasn't it generally a good thing for emissaries to be _heard_?

"I don't know if he's cute, my Lady. I've never seen him," Gretta said, a bit slower and more clearly, if not any louder.

"Well, with my luck, he probably is." Jenny looked around the room. There was underwear in plain sight. There were empty beer cans in even plainer sight. And it smelled. _She_ smelled. When had she bothered to shower last? "Get out there! Stall him!"

"Yes, my Lady." Gretta fled down the stairs. Jenny fled into shower for an attempt to quickly turn herself into something a bit closer to her usual, well-groomed self. She emerged three minutes later, trailing shampoo bubbles, managed to find some clean underwear and put it on together with her cleanest pair of dirty jeans and a T-shirt. Then she turned to her armour.

That calmed her a bit. She might be a mess right now, but she maintained her armour with a habit that had been pounded into her for the five years she had squired under Sir Thorgrim. A knight was only as good as her armour, and even if Jenny was a fuckup who couldn't be bothered to do laundry, Mennavere was a _very_ good knight.

She should technically have a squire for this kind of stuff, but she had made do on her own on numerous occasions. She quickly attached the most important pieces of armour and secured them with leather straps. Breastplate, backplate, armguards, legguards, helmet. It felt good to garb herself in steel again. The armour didn't look one bit like it came out of a fairytale; it was a simple and businesslike suit of armour, the metal rough and scratched, the leather dark with old sweat and blood. Nor did it turn Mennavere into an invincible woman of steel; the suit had been designed to provide protection where protection was vital, and leave room for flexibility where flexibility was desired. The combination was one she was utterly comfortable with, one that fit perfectly her style of fighting. In this armour, she had beheaded the Ogre of Mousepool, and fought a three-day battle with the dragon Galnisuur until she and the ancient wyrm were forced to agree to a mutual withdrawal, each having been convinced of the impossibility of victory.

Her black sword, Sauraq, completed the getup. She slammed it into its sheathe before she strode down the stairs, feeling better than she had for weeks. Let the world do its best. She feared neither foul fiends nor cute guys now.

The guy, as it turned out, wasn't even all that cute, though he definitely had poise – Jenny had spent a lot of time learning poise, and she could recognise that this was a head from which books would not have fallen. He was standing on the street outside of the Solitary Tower, talking patiently to Gretta. He was black, of medium height and a little on the broad side, with long, glossy hair that looked like he was sort of vain about it. He had swept a green-patterned cloak around himself against the cold, and it was fluttering pretty dramatically around him.

"Hi," she said, extending a leather-gloved hand. "I'm Jenny. You're the sorcerous talent they've gotten for the quest, right?"

Around them on the street, people kept passing by, not sparing a glance for the corpse-like child, the teenage girl in plate armour or the young man in the flowing cloak. Just like the silver needle of the Solitary Tower, the magical elements of the scene just didn't exist for ordinary people. If Jenny concentrated, she could make out things the way _they_ saw them – herself in jeans and a fluffy overcoat, Gretta with a skin that was merely pale and hair that was merely lacklustre, the young man in a patched and faded canvas jacket, the apartment building she had come out of. Mostly, though, she preferred to see the true world instead of the factually correct one.

"That's right," he said, giving her a firm handshake. "I'm Jameel." She noticed with some satisfaction that he was watching her face with an overwhelmed look that he wasn't quite able to hide. Not a bad effect, given that she wore a hauberk that flattened her figure and a helmet that covered her hair.

_Oh yeah. Still got it._

"His Lordship suggests you start by asking questions over at the _Noisy Tomb_," Gretta said.

"The _Noisy Tomb_." Jenny nodded. "I guess that's as good a place as any." She caught Jameel's questioning glance. "It's a café slash Freehold downtown. A lot of insurgent elements hang out there."

"I'm surprised Broch hasn't stomped down on it," Jameel said.

"Why should he?" Jenny grinned. "This way he knows where to find insurgents when he needs them. Someone there might know where Josey is. Might know. He moves around a lot."

"And the chances of someone beating us to a bloody pulp for asking questions there would be…?" Jameel said.

Jenny beamed at him.

"Hey, that's why they call it an adventure!"

"Right," Jameel said. He sounded faintly ill. "Silly me."

Jenny chuckled. She liked this guy already. Straight men didn't grow on trees. In fact, she was feeling pretty positive altogether. Oh, her life still sucked and everything, but at least for a little while it was going to suck in an interesting way. Even if she was going on a quest for a crazed tyrant, she _was_ going on a quest, and Mennavere thrived on quests.

"That just leaves one question," she said. "Who's going to watch over my Freehold and the prisoner while I'm gone? I don't even have any enchanted boytoys at the moment."

"Big Brian," Gretta said.

Jenny's positive feelings evaporated.

"No," she said. "_No_."

"I tried that one." Jameel sighed. "It doesn't work."

"_Not_ Big Brian!" Jenny howled. "You can't do this to me!"

"His Lordship's orders," Gretta whimpered.

"Well, tell his Lordship…" Jenny began. Then she broke off. Judging from the faint tremors of the ground, something very large had just moved up behind her. She turned, and had to force herself not to go for her sword.

"Hiya, Jenny," Big Brian boomed. He was eight feet tall and covered with greasy hair. Somewhere inside the hair, you could glimpse an equally greasy suit of leather armour.

"That's Lady Mennavere for _you_, Brian!" she growled. "I slay the likes of you."

"Not me. His Lordship's favourite, I am." Brian sneered. "Maybe if I handle it real nice, he'll give me your Freehold for good, huh?"

"An ogre?" Jameel raised his eyebrows. "You're really a _Thallain_, sir? I don't think I've ever met one."

Big Brian gave Jameel a glance.

"Yeah, well, I've met a thousand little _Kinain_ shits. Most of them tasted nice and crunchy, too."

For a moment, Jenny thought that the young spellslinger would turn Big Brian into a frog on the spot. Hardly a muscle moved on Jameel's face, but for just a moment, his eyes blazed with so much sheer hatred that she was faintly grateful it wasn't directed at her. Then, just as suddenly, he composed himself.

"I'm sure they did," he said.

"You two run along," Brian said. "I'm going to make myself comfortable. See ya."

He stepped into the Solitary Tower. He had to bend over to get in through the door.

Jenny turned around to give Gretta a piece of her mind, but the child had wisely disappeared. Jenny was left standing on the street with Jameel, with her Freehold barred against her and a quest before her that she suddenly wasn't as enthusiastic about anymore.

"Did he really?" he said.

"Eat people?" Jenny scowled. "Probably. He's evil. That's why Broch likes him so much." She shrugged. "Come on. We'll take the bus."

They started walking down the street.

"So you're really _Kinain_, then?" Jenny said.

"Yeah." Jameel nodded soberly. "Best as we can figure, there was this Sidhe landowner back in colonial times. Fell in love with one of his slaves, freed her, married her, got her pregnant, got killed by all the other landowners for doing all of the above."

Jenny smiled despite herself.

"Aw, that's so _romantic_."

Jameel gave her a dubious glance, which she evenly returned. All right, she could see how the death and misery might turn a lot of people off. She was of the house of Fiona, though. She had the right, nay, the duty to be weird about these things.

"It must have been tough for you to make it to full sorcerer," she said. "If you have to rely on others for your Glamour, I mean."

"I'm not a full sorcerer," Jameel said. "Not even close, actually."

Jenny raised her eyebrows.

"They're sending me up against Old Josey, and they're not even having a full sorcerer back me up?"

They reached a bus stop and sat down on the bench. There wasn't anyone else there at the moment, but Jenny had learned that that kind of thing didn't matter. People just assumed that you were involved in some kind of elaborate (and, after one look at her, probably kinky) roleplaying game.

"I think we're supposed to get killed," Jameel said matter-of-factly.

Jenny shook her head.

"If Lord Broch is not happy with my services, he can just behead me."

"This isn't Broch," Jameel said. "It's some kind of conspiracy. Not necessarily against us, mind. Sending us off to get killed is probably some kind of distraction or something."

"Has anyone ever told you you're really paranoid?" Jenny said.

He shrugged.

"You're only paranoid if they really _aren't_ out to get you," he said evenly.

"For someone who thinks everyone's out to get you, you're being awfully calm about it," Jenny pointed out.

"Not everyone," Jameel said peacefully. "Just a surprisingly large amount of people. And either way, you sort of get used to it. Not like there's anything I can do about it." He glanced at her. "Mind you, _you_ could go to Broch and double-check your orders. Just to make sure they _do_ come from him."

Jenny considered that.

"If I said something really, _really_ offensive," she said, "and I promised that it wasn't meant to insult you, and I was really sorry but I couldn't think of a polite way of putting it, would you still get mad?"

"Doubtful," Jameel said.

"In that case," Jenny said, "if Lord Broch really did send me these orders – and seeing as his personal emissary _and_ his personal champion seems to be in on it, it's fairly likely he did – and I bother him by asking for a confirmation because a, well, because a _Kinain_ – I'm really sorry – because a _Kinain_ told me to, then I think he really _would_ behead me."

She waited for an explosion, or at least – more likely, if Jameel was as composed as he seemed – a nasty look. It didn't come. Instead, he looked thoughtful for a moment and then nodded.

"You're probably right," he said. "The _Noisy Tomb _it is, then, I guess."

---

The café turned out to be a fairly gothic-looking one, with lots of black drapes, morbid decorations and people glaring at you from shady corners. The woman behind the counter looked at first glance like a grownup version of Gretta, but on closer inspection her pastiness came from makeup. The hellish-red colour of her eyes was phoney, too. The horns might or might not be.

"Oh fuck," she said when she saw Jenny in the door.

"Now, now, Baroness Nightshade." Jenny grinned. "I won't cause any trouble if I don't have to."

"Oh, I'm not worrying about _you_ causing trouble," Nightshade said. "I'm worried about you bleeding all over my carpet. And I just _know_ someone's going to smash a chair over your head! I'm not made of money, you know."

"Friend of yours?" Jameel mumbled.

"Oh, you know how it is," Jenny mumbled back. "Some people have a real problem with authority." She put her hand on the hilt of her sword and stepped forward. "All right, people, the question of the day is Old Josey! Who wants to tell me where he is?"

The silence was deafening.

"We don't like your kind here, pig," a deep voice rumbled from the shadows.

"I appreciate you being forthright about that," Jenny said. "I think it's important that people are honest with each other. Now, keep up the good work and tell me honestly where Josey is."

"Jenny?" Jameel said. "A quick word?"

Jenny looked over her shoulder at him.

"Yes?"

"Are you suicidal?" Jameel said. "I mean, do you have a genuine death wish? If we're going to be working together, I think it's best if I found out right away."

"Oh, be a bigger wuss…" A spoon bounced off of the back of Jenny's helmet. She immediately turned back around. "Okay, who threw that? Own up, whoever it was! Don't make me Dictum the lot of you!"

"You threatening us with that filthy Sovereignty of yours?" a shrill voice demanded. "_Here_?"

"Well, seeing as this Freehold is part of the Duchy of Howling Winds, and I'm on a mission from the Lord Regent, yeah, _here_," Jenny said.

"A Lord Regent who taxes us incessantly, tortures people who act against him to death, treats even his loyal subjects shabbily and generally insults the throne he sits on," Nightshade said.

"Well… yeah." Jenny shrugged, a bit uncomfortably. "He's kind of evil incarnate. You got me there."

"She admits it!" the shrill voice cried. "She's a servant of the Dark! She's evil!"

"I'm _not_ fucking evil!" Jenny growled, her discomfort turning to anger. "I took an oath to serve the rightful ruler of the duchy, and right now that's Broch. And like it or not, Nightshade, you took _the same damn oath_, so I'd like a bit less attitude from your people!"

"Save it," Nightshade said. "You don't have any power here."

"See, that's where you're wrong." Jenny grinned widely. "Watch me. Hey, loud-mouthed girl in the corner? I am Lady Mennavere ap Fiona, mistress of the Solitary Tower; daughter of Sir Reignald ap Fiona, the First Sword of Everdusk; son of Baron Dreis ap Fiona…"

"You wouldn't dare!" the shrill voice shrieked. "You wouldn't _dare_!"

Jameel took a few steps over to the counter and turned to Nightshade.

"So what happens if she does?" he said conversationally.

"… son of Sir Daymond ap Fiona, called Daymond the Dense…"

"I'll kill you! I'll _cut_ you!"

"A Dictum, in here?" Nightshade shook her head. "People will riot."

"… son of Contessa Temeeril Taravelli Fiona…"

"That's what I thought," Jameel said. His left hand shot out and grabbed Nightshade by the collar, pulling her head down to the counter. His right hand slipped a knife out of his cloak and pressed it against her exposed throat.

"… and I command you, **step forward and face me**!"

A scrawny woman in extremely elaborate clothes and the makeup of a highly artistic clown came stumbling forward like she was a puppet on strings. Her face was a mask of outraged disbelief.

"Get her!" the rumbling voice from before growled. "Get the Sidhe bitch!" The speaker got up and lumbered forward, a massive figure of a man with fists large enough to encompass Jameel's entire face. From shadows all through the _Noisy Tomb_, other guests stepped out, many of them brandishing weapons and all of them brandishing righteous fury.

"Stop or I'll kill her!" Jameel snapped.

"Stop or he'll kill me!" Nightshade wailed.

The avalanche of furious café patrons ground to a sudden halt.

"Well, isn't this interesting?" Jenny had drawn her sword, but she wasn't holding it in any kind of alert position; she had the point against the floor and was leaning on it like a cane. "Now, who wants to start talking?"

Silence.

"I should point out that this isn't chimerical steel," Jameel said. "This is an _actual_ knife. If I cut through her throat with it, her faerie soul doesn't just go into remission for a couple of months. She'll be really, really dead."

"You wouldn't dare!" the woman with the shrill voice said.

"Remember what happened last time you said that?" Jameel asked.

"Ice… spire…" Nightshade gasped.

"Icespire?" Jenny raised an eyebrow. "Is that where he is?"

"Where he was…" Nightshade tried to squirm away from the knife, but she would have had to push her way through the solid wood of the counter to do so. "Redcaps might… know…"

"Thank you. You've all been very helpful." She took a graceful bow.

The shrill-voiced woman screamed and leap for her, knives appearing in her hands.

Jameel didn't think anyone saw Jenny moved. One moment she was bowing. The next, her left fist was crashing into the woman's face, ending the assault in a wail of broken-toothed misery.

Like that had been a signal, everyone in the café suddenly charged Jenny all at once.

Jameel released Nightshade, pulled a vial filled with the carefully distilled essences of certain herbs out of his cloak and threw it on the floor. It shattered and released a cloud of thick, yellowish smoke.

When the smoke cleared, Jameel and Jenny were gone.

---

"Well, that was fun," Jenny said five minutes later. She was standing on the street, watching Jameel lean against a house wall and gasp for breath. Apparently, sudden sprints to avoid pursuit didn't agree with him as well as they did with her. Still, she couldn't deny that he had pulled his weight back there.

Jameel gave her a mute look of complete disgust.

"Oh, don't tell me that wasn't _fun_!" Jenny said. "Can't you just feel the adrenalin pumping?"

"Painful… excruciating… horrible… death…" Jameel panted.

"Nah, they were just going to rough us up a bit."

"No, I meant that's what I'm going to do to _you_!"

Jenny shook her head and clucked her tongue.

"You big baby."

"Hey, I _saved _you back there!" Jameel pulled himself up with obvious effort. "If it wasn't for me, they'd have rushed you! You wouldn't have had a chance!"

"Well, yeah, you did great," Jenny said. "Not denying it. Kudos. Owe you one."

That seemed to mollify him somewhat.

"Thanks," he said. "So I didn't mess up some kind of go-out-with-a-bang plan of yours, then?"

"I may hate my life these days, but I'm not eager to die." She grinned. "Eager to _risk_ my life, sure, but that's nothing new, and I've been around for this long."

"Fair enough." He wrinkled his brow. "What _would_ you have done, though? If I hadn't grabbed Nightshade?"

"Well, see, I don't think like that," Jenny said. "I've been on a lot of adventures, and planning never gets you anywhere. I do what seems to be the thing to do at the moment, and then I assume that something will come up to make it all work out." She held out her hands. "You got to admit it worked this time."

"I guess." He sighed. "So what's this Icespire?"

"Redcap Freehold," Jenny said. "They're loyal to Broch, mostly. Maybe they've changed their minds. Let's go. It's not too far away."

They started walking.

"And… I'm sorry," Jameel said, a bit stiffly. "About you hating your life."

"Meh." Jenny shrugged. "Everyone's lives suck sometimes, don't they?"

They walked in silence for a while.

"Jenny…" Jameel then said. "Those immense towers of greyish ice a few blocks ahead of us…"

"What about them?" Jenny said.

"… the ones with black birds of prey circling them…"

"Yes?"

"… and I think some kind of standard made out of human skulls on top of the closest one…"

"You have good eye sight."

"… the towers that, all in all, sort of scream 'don't come here!'…"

"Uh-huh?"

"… they're Icespire, right?"

"Give the boy a cigar."

Jameel sighed.

"I don't suppose we could make a plan that's marginally less suicidal than 'let's run over there and give those Redcaps a good talking to'?" he said in a suffering tone of voice.

Jenny glanced at him and laughed. She had forgotten how squishy sorcerers were. A knight could take a hit and come back for more; it was just part of the job, after all, and once you accepted that and learned that a bit of pain didn't destroy you, most of the fear went away. Sorcerers tended to fancy themselves creatures of civilisation – if you punched one of them in the face, you didn't just hurt him, you sort of _violated_ him.

Bunch of pussies, really. But in the name of diplomacy…

"What did you have in mind?" she said.

"Well…" Jameel considered. "I could make _us_ look like Redcaps. Or at least as someone the Redcaps won't immediately massacre."

"Hmm." Jenny shrugged. "Okay, sure. Can't see why not."

---

"I can see why not now!" Jenny whispered furiously. "I can see very clearly why not!"

Jameel sighed. It wasn't his fault, he told himself. Redcaps looked in a certain way, and that was involved a certain amount of grime. It was true that he had, perhaps, gone a little overboard with it; Jenny's hair looked three shades darker than it really was because he had glamoured so much grease and dirt into it. But other than that, he felt he had done a great job on the illusion. And those huge sharp teeth looked very becoming, in a mean-ugly-spirit-of-hunger sort of way.

"It's not real dirt," he offered. "It'll go away as soon as I break the spell."

"So? If there are any cute Redcap guys in there and they see me like this, your ass is toast, pal," Jenny said.

"There are cute Redcap guys?" Jameel said. The concept had not previously existed for him.

"Well," Jenny said, with a slight smile of pleasant memories, "some of them have that bad-boy vibe that just makes you…"

"Thank you!" Jameel said quickly. "I can fill in the blanks from there, I think."

He glanced around the corner. The gate of Icespire was ahead, a pair of huge jaws of dirty ice, completely ignored by the passer-bys.

"And my chest hasn't been this flat since I was _eleven_!" Jenny complained, looking down at the admittedly almost entirely vertical line of her illusionary leather jacket.

"How should I know what your chest looks like?" Jameel said. "You've been wearing a stainless steel corset all day."

"Well, you could have erred on the side of caution," Jenny said prudently. "Honestly, the _least_ you could have given me was a C-cup."

Jameel forced himself to be patient. _Sidhe_, he reminded himself. _Teenage girl,_ he reminded himself. Jenny was the innocent victim of a double doze of the vanity gene…

They walked in through the macabre gates. Inside was an ice corridor, dimly lit with a dirty light that seemed to emanate from the walls themselves. There was also a short, heavyset young man holding a halberd. He had other features aside from the halberd, but it took Jameel a moment to notice them. There was something about a halberd that concentrated your attention wonderfully. It was, perhaps, that it was such an exaggerated weapon; half spear, half giant axe, all instrument of gruesome murder. There was no part of a halberd that didn't look like it wanted to kill you and the sooner the better. It kept giving you mental images of yourself as a barbeque stick.

"Hold it!" the short, heavyset you man with the halberd – yes, dear God, the halberd; what would it feel like to have it rammed through your chest, aaarrghh, aaaarggghh, don't think about it – said. "Who're you?"

"Big Brian sent us," Jenny said. "He said to help you out."

The guard frowned. It was an impressive frown. His mouth stretched from one cheekbone to another, and it was filled with pointy, yellow teeth.

_I need to relax,_ Jameel told himself. _This is far from the worst situation I've been in. In fact, seeing as no one is actively trying to skewer me with, just for example, a halberd – aaaaarrrgghh, aaaarrggghh, no, I take it back, not a halberd – it's actually a step in the right direction compared to some situations I've been in._

"Help us out with what?" the guard said.

"Oh, you know." Jenny took a step forward, apparently to give the guard a friendly nudge, but seven feet of medieval tool of massacre appeared in her way and made her back off. "That plan."

"What plan?" the guard said.

"That plan where we overthrow all remnants of constitutional monarchy in this duchy and institute a reign of eternal terror and a final return of _finbulavinter_," Jenny said.

_Of course,_ Jameel thought with the small part of his mind that hadn't shut down from pure terrified disbelief, _in those other situations, I didn't have It-Seemed-Like-A-Good-Idea-At-The-Time Jenny with me. I forgot to weigh that fact in. Having Jenny along automatically raises the 'oh crap' factor of a situation to the power of ten, I need to remember that until next time…_

"Oh," the guard said. "That plan."

"There are other plans?" Jenny said.

"Well, no," the guard said. "It's just that it's not so much a _plan_, you know? It's more like a, what you call, mission statement."

"Well, either way…" Jenny said.

"Yeah." The guard nodded. "Come on, I'll take you to the big boss."

He trooped off, Jenny and Jameel in tow.

_It really offends me that I'm not skewered,_ Jameel thought. _It's crazy, but there you have it. In any sort of sensible universe, I _would _be skewered right now. It would be selfish of me to approve of the world having gone insane just because it happened to work in my favour…_

The corridor ended in a big, round hall with a bonfire blazing in the centre. Scruffy-looking young men and women were hanging lazily around the hall, none of them doing anything as uncool as paying attention to the newcomers.

An especially big and impressively built Redcap was sitting by the fire, his back to the door. He was dressed in some kind of ludicrous cape of leather and feathers.

"I brought them like you said, boss," the guard said.

That was enough to make warning bells start ringing in Jameel's head, and Jenny's hand flew to the hilt of her sword, but it was too late, too late, too late.

The Redcap chieftain turned around, grinning with his broad, flat face. Red and brown streaks had been painted across his brow and over the ridge of his nose. His eyes were deep and dark and gleeful.

_Jax?_

"Hello, Jameel," the Redcap said. The cultured accent was in wild discord with his tribal appearance. "Long time."

_No no no can't be can't be can't be Jax not here not here not here…_

"Friend of yours?" Jenny drew her sword. The motion was almost lazy. She was grinning again. Just another day in the life of Lady Mennavere, monster slayer. How was she supposed to know that what she was looking at was worse than any monster that had ever walked the earth?

Jameel's mind was panicking. _No no not Jax can't be Jax he's in Boston_ _he's in _Boston _he can't be here not here not here not here NOT HERE…_ But while Jameel's mind panicked, Jameel's hand, far more practical, slipped into his cloak. Carefully… gently…

"Oh, me and Jameel, we go way back." Jax smirked. "I'm sad to say we haven't always been friends, though. In fact, Jameel has treated me very badly… _very_ badly… but I'm sure he's very sorry for that, yes? I'm sure he's ready to make _full_ recompense."

Jameel's hand came out of his cloak, bringing with it a handful of powder that he threw at Jax. It ignited in the air, so that the Redcap was showered with a cloud of burning dust.

Before Jax had even begun shouting and sputtering, Jameel had already turned and ran. This was bad, hoo boy this was bad, but he'd get out of it, he always got out of it, he…

He collided with something big and brown and hot, _hot_, something that burned his hands when he tried to fend it off. It was screeching in a voice too high to be human, and a sharp beak cut his skin there, and there, and there, three times in rapid succession. Jameel slipped and fell, with the monstrous bird on top of him.

Screams of rage and pain, as well as cries of "Fiona! Fiona! The Lion!" hinted that Jenny was doing what she did best. Jameel was in no position to help her, though. Jax's nightmare bird – _Weekwaweel, _he recalled, _Weekwaweel the Sky Death, that's what Jax called it, because that's what the scared kid that Dreamed it into being called it _– was standing with its great, sharp talons on Jameel's stomach, and that beak was inches, _inches_ away from his soft throat.

Jax's face loomed over him. It looked pink and raw, like Jax had gotten an instant sunburn. It also looked very angry.

"So at least you haven't forgotten what we taught you," he growled. "Well, that's nice, because now it's time for you to repay us for our generous tutelage. The Shadow Court is not in the business of charity, Jameel. I thought you knew that."


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's note: in honour of the six-month anniversary of my posting the first chapter, I'm here posting – the _second _chapter!_

_Yes, I am pathetic. I'm aware of it._

---

Jameel woke up to the feeling that his head was bursting and his legs felt like someone was trying to pull them out to twice their length. Further examination of the environment suggested that this was probably due to the fact that he was hanging upside-down from the ceiling.

Right above the bonfire at the centre of the hall. Some thirty feet above it, in fact. Jameel felt faintly nauseous. If he fell from here, would he drop into the fire and burn himself to death, or would he just squash against the floor?

Not that it mattered. But a man was bound to develop an academic curiosity about these things.

"Urrrgh," he said.

"Oh, you're awake?" Jenny said. She was hanging a few feet to the right of him. Silver-golden hair – no longer greasy, his illusion had faded when he passed out – hung down from her helmetless head. "I was expecting you to be asleep for much longer. I figured you must be tired from all the running. Away. Leaving me right in the thick of it."

"Well, I kind of expected you to run away _too_…" Jameel muttered. He felt for his cloak, but apparently Jax had removed it. Damn Jax, he knew Jameel's habits all too well – knew that his cloak was where he kept all his spell components. "Besides, I wasn't exactly thinking straight."

"Sissy," Jenny said. There wasn't any real malice in her voice, just some exasperated disappointment.

"Look, not everyone's a Fiona Sidhe, okay?" Jameel said. "I don't have any magical compact with the Dreaming that means I never get scared."

"I don't mind _scared_," Jenny said. "You were _scared_ back at the _Noisy Tomb_, but you still pulled your weight. This wasn't _scared_, this was _mindless terror_. And I don't get why."

"Okay, I'm sorry about the 'mindless' part," Jameel said. His legs were telling him that if they had to support his weight for much longer, they were going to start hurting in hitherto unimagined ways. "But when you see Jax, terror is the sensible reaction. Trust me."

Jenny gave him a studying look.

"You're really in the Shadow Court?" she said.

"I was." Jameel looked away. "By accident, mostly."

"By accident." Jenny took a deep breath. "Let's work this out, shall we? We are, here, talking about the Shadow Court, the ultra-secret conspiracy that spreads like a cancer throughout our lands with the ultimate goal of blotting out the sun and ruling a nightmare world of Endless Winter. Yes? How do you _accidentally_ join them?"

"Well, they don't wear tags saying 'we're incredibly evil, ask us how,'" Jameel said. "They're a _secret_ conspiracy, remember? I didn't know it was them I was getting involved with. There was this Satyr girl…"

Jenny sighed.

"Of course there was."

"… and she was just so friendly and helpful…"

"Of course she was."

"… and when I found out what she wanted in return, it was kind of too late to back out."

"Of course it was." Jenny winced. "So what did you get out of it, aside from the obvious? What is it Jax figures you owe him?"

It occurred to Jameel that Jenny wouldn't appreciate this one, but this didn't seem like the time to worry about that kind of thing.

"Minnie taught me to withstand Sovereignty," he said. "To refuse a Sidhe's orders."

Shocked silence.

"She didn't," Jenny finally said. "She damn well didn't. That's _impossible_."

"It wouldn't be much of a conspiracy if any Sidhe could just order people to say if they were in it or not, would it?" Jameel said. "I'm telling you, it works. I can shrug off a Dictum, if I want to."

"That's terrible." Jenny paused. "Also – the evil, seductive, Dark-Art-teaching, lead-good-men-astray girl was named _Minnie_?"

"I'm afraid so."

"The forces of darkness aren't what they used to be." Jenny shook her head. "So what did you do, once you'd found out that your girlfriend was up to no good?"

"Uh… spent a really unpleasant summer dodging people like Jax," Jameel said. "And then I transferred here. There are Shadow Court goons here too, but they're not as… as personally invested in me as Minnie. And Jax."

"Again with the running," Jenny pointed out. "What the hell did this Jax _do_ to you, anyway? Wave a knife in your face? Kill your goldfish?"

"No," Jameel said. "He shoved a spear through my kid sister's stomach."

There was a pause.

"Oh," Jenny then said in a very different voice.

"Right in front of my eyes," Jameel said. "She's seven years old."

"Did she make it?" Jenny said quietly.

"Yeah. I healed her." Jameel scowled. "Once he let me go so I could do it. After, oh, half an hour or so."

There had been feathers on the spear, he remembered. Jax liked feathers. Jameel remembered them darkening little by little as Marissa's blood seeped out over them. He remembered her face, grey and still. She had passed out from the pain; there had been that mercy.

He remembered Jax's goons holding him down, Jax walking back and forth in front of him, grinning at him with that grotesquely wide mouth.

_Aren't I good? I managed to avoid hitting any major organs. Just a flesh wound… of course, she'll die of blood loss and shock eventually. But not to worry – you can just smear some ointment on her, and she'll be as good as new! Ba-da-bing! Isn't it fun to be a sorcerer?_

_That is… _if _I let you do it. I might. Then again, I _could _just let you sit there and watch her fade away second by second. The road of life does have a lot of these little forks, doesn't it?_

And he remembered, clearer than he wanted to, the knowledge beyond excuses or mitigation, that this was his fault. Because he had been dumb enough to believe in a free lunch. Because he had been greedy and stupid and careless. And if Marissa died because of that…

Jax hadn't just been threatening him with the death of a loved one. He had been threatening him with irredeemable damnation.

"So, I guess we'd better figure out a way to get out of here," Jenny said after they had been silent for a while.

"We're hanging upside-down from the ceiling, fifteen feet off the floor, with lots of evil changelings beneath us just itching for a chance to do mean things to us," Jameel said. "Besides…"

He nodded to the huge, brown shape that was perched on a ledge on the hall's wall. Its huge black eyes were watching their every move. Jax didn't have to worry about his prisoners escaping, not when he had such a formidable watchdog.

"What _is_ that thing?" Jenny said.

"It's called Weekwaweel." Jameel sighed. "I think Jax took it from the nightmares of some toddler who had been frightened by a crow or something. It's big, mean and much smarter than it's got any business being. Between it and all those Redcaps down there, our chances are pretty nonexistent…"

"Yeah, but that's what makes it _epic_!" Jenny said happily.

"Silly me." Jameel closed his eyes. He wasn't sure if he should be wistful that he didn't have the Fiona's courage, or be grateful that _he_ had been born with a sense of self-preservation. Of course, self-preservation wasn't worth much when you were _already_ screwed…

"Okay, so look at it like this," Jenny said. "Jax is saving us for later, right? So what's going to happen once he gets around to dealing with us?"

"We'll be tortured and violated in every way a sick mind can come up with," Jameel said.

"Exactly. So what's the worst thing that can happen if we try to escape? We're already in the absolute worst position ever." She paused. "Also, don't you mean _I_ will be violated?"

"No, Jax is an equal-opportunities violator."

"Huh." Jenny blinked. "The forces of ultimate evil are bisexual. I hope the fundies never find out. We either-way's-fine people would never get to live it down."

"Actually, I think Jax is rape-sexual," Jameel said. "He'll stick it into anything that doesn't want it there, it's consent that's the turnoff… Look, could we _please_ change the subject? Like, for instance, just how do you propose we _start_ with our daring escape?"

"Well." Jenny scrunched up her forehead. "I could Dictum someone down there. Make them wait for the right time, and then release us when no one was looking."

"Shadow Court, remember?" Jameel said. "They'll counteract whatever you throw at them."

"Oh yeah." Jenny pouted. "That's going to take some getting used to. It's not supposed to be _possible_ to disobey a command from a Sidhe who's really putting her back into it. That's the laws of the Dreaming. Or something."

"Yeah, well, unfortunately, the laws of the Dreaming can always be broken with enough effort," Jameel said. "Very little good usually comes of it, but that's another thing. Besides, how would it even be _possible_ to let us down 'when no one was looking'? We're in the middle of the freaking hall! Everyone would see us!"

"I guess." Jenny frowned. "Bother. Okay, _you_ think of something."

"Uhm." Jameel struggled. "I'm trying, but all I can come up with is 'we're going to die painfully.'"

"Okay, _not helping_!" Jenny chewed on her lip. "Right. You know, I'm pretty sure I could put the chains on fire. Not all of them, just the part where they're attached to the ceiling."

"What good would that do?"

"The ceiling's made of ice," Jenny said. "It'd melt. We'd fall."

"To our death!"

Jenny didn't answer. It took Jameel a moment to read her expression.

"Oh," he said. "To our _quick_ death. We're down to that option, are we?"

"Well, it's not very heroic," Jenny said. "But at least it's sensible. And, hey, I could try to time it so I landed on Jax." She grinned. "That's what he gets for leaving me in my armour. I'm _really_ hard and heavy right now. I'd totally splat him!" She shrugged. "Besides, it's not like I'm mortal, or anything. It'd take a couple of years, but Mennavere would be reborn."

"Jenny wouldn't be!"

She grimaced.

"Jenny has fucked up so badly that I'm not sure it wouldn't be a mercy kill."

Jameel wasn't sure what to say to that. He didn't know her well enough to have a right to ask, and besides, he kind of had problems of his own.

"I'm not a faerie," he said quietly. "I'll just die. And I can't die, not _yet_…"

His parents, his entire family, had made sacrifices so that he could go off and be educated. So that he could come back and take care of them all. If he died here, it would all have been wasted, all because he had been too stupid to stay alive…

"Oh." Jenny pondered. "Well, I guess we could just stay where we are and hope something turns up."

"Yeah." Jameel closed his eyes. "Sounds like a plan to me."


	3. Chapter 3

What turned up was an invasion of fauns.

One moment, Jenny was hanging from the roof, idly counting the number of muscles and sinews who was competing for the title of 'most painful part of Jenny's body.' The next, she watched as a score of small, furry bodies forced their way into the hall, hollering and waving crude weapons.

It occurred to Jenny that she might have gone insane or something. This was the kind of thing that just _didn't happen_, not even in Lady Mennavere's adventures, which had always been kind of over the top. When you were captured by the villains, sometimes you managed to free yourself on your own and sometimes you got help from someone, but a minor army – in the changeling world, twenty people _was_ an army – didn't storm in with the express purpose of rescuing you. That kind of thing was just wishful thinking.

Nevertheless, the fauns seemed real enough, and making headway into the hall. Jax had rallied a bunch of Redcaps, and they were bigger and stronger than the fauns, but there were a _lot_ of fauns. They were swarming the grimy defenders of Icespire, pummelling them with clubs and stabbing them with wooden spears. Many of them went down before the Redcaps' axes and spears, but more fauns poured out of the entrance and replaced them.

_No,_ Jenny thought. _I don't buy this. There aren't this many Satyrs in the whole duchy. It's some kind of trick…_

One of the fauns had apparently liberated the control mechanism to the chains. Jameel and Jenny started sinking towards the ground.

"Friends of yours?" Jameel said. There was a slight touch of hysteria in his calm.

"Hardly." Jenny looked at the battle. The Redcaps were being pushed back. "I hardly know a single faun who doesn't work for Old Josey."

"So why are they saving us?"

"Maybe they lust for my hot bod and don't want to see it molested by unattractive Redcaps," Jenny said, just to avoid having to say that she didn't know.

"Some of them look like they're about six years old!"

"Maybe they just want to make sure I'm still around when they hit puberty."

There was a shriek, and something huge and brown passed through the air just beneath them. Jenny could feel a gust of hot air against her face.

"It's Weekwaweel!" Jameel yelped.

"There's always something, isn't there?" Jenny stared intently at the huge bird, which was swooping around and heading back for them. She wondered if it obeyed the ordinary laws of physics or something more interesting. If it acted like an ordinary bird, slamming into her armoured body would do interesting things to its hollow bone structure…

Best not to count on that, though.

The bird of prey was coming back, the sound of its immense wings resounding like thunder. It fixed Jenny with its mad, black, teacup-sized eyes.

"Come on," Jenny said between her teeth. "Come on. Polly wants a piece of me? _Come_ on."

When Weekwaweel dived in to tear the eyes out of her exposed face, Jenny's arms shot out and closed around its massive chest. Weekwaweel screamed and tried to bite her, but Jenny had some experience when it came to wrestling with monsters, and she kept any part of herself that wasn't armoured safely out of the way.

The momentum of the birds attack sent the two of them careening off towards the opposite wall, but because Jenny was suspended from the ceiling, the straight line turned into a curve, as Jenny and Weekwaweel rose upwards like the lower end of a pendulum.

The bird was scorching hot, but Jenny had fought dragons, and she could stand getting a bit of a tan. She kept her crushing grip, tensing it little by little. Weekwaweel screamed, and its beak and talons ground across her armour plates, digging shallow depressions in them. The groan of steel in torment mixed with the monster's shrieks, turning into a mad music in Jenny's ears.

Weekwaweel turned from its path, going back towards the centre of the hall and gaining altitude while doing so. For the first time in hours, the weight was suddenly off Jenny's legs, making her want to whimper in relief. For a moment, she even came close to slackening her grip, but she caught herself and held on.

_Bring it, Polly. Just bring it. This is what I do. You think you're tough? Jax took you out of some toddler's nightmares, was that it? Hah! I've fought down the hobgoblins of entire _nations…

Weekwaweel was accelerating, its breath hoarse and ragged. Jenny wondered if it was going to slam her against a wall or something, but then she noticed that the chains, which had slackened for a moment, were now growing tighter again. Weekwaweel meant to rip her off its back by using her own fetters.

_Shit. Aren't we clever? Well, I'm game._

She held on tighter. The feathery, overheated smell of the creature's panic almost made her throw up.

The chains tightened, tightened – and then ran out of length. For a split instant, Jenny was caught between the bird in her arms, that was trying to carry her onwards, and the chains around her ankles, which were trying to keep her back. The pain was overwhelming; every single muscle and tendon in her body yelled at her to let to, let _go_, they were being ripped apart here, she had to let _go_…

Then there was a very final _crack_. For a second, Jenny didn't know what it was that had broken. Then she started falling, Weekwaweel a limp weight falling next to her, and she knew that she had won.

The strain of again having her weight carried entirely by the chains forced a cry of pain from her lips, but only because she could afford to be weak now. Weekwaweel's corpse dropped to the snowy floor, its neck twisted in an unnatural angle.

Jenny swung back and forth, helplessly lost to pendulum motions, while the fauns continued bringing her and Jameel back to the ground. She hit it with her shoulder-blades first, did a couple of unwanted cartwheels, and ended up lying on her back, contemplating the full meaning of the word 'aoch.'

"Get up!" a childish voice said.

"… can't…" Jenny groaned. She wasn't even sure she could move her legs. Had she dislocated something, snapped some tendons? It was very possible.

"Come on!" the voice said. "You don't get it, we don't have much time. Soon as Jax figures out the real score, he'll be down on us like a ton of bricks, we have to get out of here!"

Jenny opened her eyes and glared up at the stubby-horned, wild-haired little face hovering over her.

"Which part of 'can't' did you have trouble with?" she growled. "I'm a _knight_, okay? I'm not some sissy who cries over a hangnail. If I say my legs are busted, my legs are busted, and it doesn't matter _how_ screwed I am if I don't get moving, _I can't do it_."

"Shit. Okay, wait." The faun bit his lip. "What about the guy you were with?"

"Jameel?" Jenny winced. "He _is_ a sissy. Why?"

"No, I mean, he's supposed to be a sorcerer, right? Can't he fix you up?"

"Yes. Yes, he could," Jenny said, remembering Marissa. "I think he'll need his cloak first, though. Can you find it?"

The faun turned around.

"The sorcerer's cloak!" he hollered. "Someone bring it to me! Move, move, move!"

Jenny didn't have the vantage point to see how a pack of fauns fetched Jameel's cape from wherever Jax had hung it and brought it over to him, nor how Jameel used the ointments to heal himself. Instead, she spent the time instructing the faun how to remove her legguards. Her legs were purple and lumpy beneath them, and every time she touched them it sent screams of agony up her tights.

Finally, Jameel limped over to her, back in his cloak. He applied some sort of sticky salve from a small jar to her joints and certain muscles. He had a surprisingly light touch.

After a couple of minutes, Jenny dared to try standing up again. She felt wobbly, and her legs ached, but they carried her well enough. She flashed a smile at Jameel, but his face was ashy-grey and he didn't' seem to notice her.

"_Now_ let's get out of here!" the faun insisted.

"What's the rush?" Jenny said. "I want to watch while you beat up Jax."

"No, you don't understand…" the faun said.

A feral-looking cat raced past Jenny and disappeared out of the hall. After a few moments, it was followed by a racoon. And, now that Jenny thought about it, there were a _lot_ of animals fleeing from the hall…

"A cantrip," she realised. "You made the animals look like an army…"

"And talked them into helping out," the faun said, grinning. "Clever, huh? We've been feeding the forest critters for _months_ to prepare for something like this. Now come on, because I think Jax is on to us."

Jenny didn't need further prodding. She didn't have her sword, her whole body creaked every time she moved, and while she was incapable of fear, Jax freaked her out ever so slightly. She staggered along as the fauns started pouring out. A few of them followed her along on each side, supporting her from time to time.

They got out on the street, where motorists were honking and breaking and swearing at the animals that were escaping from Icespire. There were already a few pathetic balls of fur lying very still on the road. Jenny felt absurdly guilty about that, considering that she ate steak with relish and had frequently worn leather with glee.

The fauns brought her and Jameel along to a small park, where they planted them on a bench. No Redcaps were in evidence so far; maybe Jax was wary of fighting battles in the middle of the street in broad daylight. That kind of thing brought all sorts of unforgiving people down on you, after all, and the Hidden War was still fresh in everyone's memory.

"There you go," the faun said, as he and his friends clustered around the bench. "You're delivered from the face of death, courtesy of Torus Tangletail, faun at large. You may commence loving and worshipping me now."

"I'm very grateful," Jenny said. "But I'd still like to know why you did it. You took one hell of a risk, going in there. Jax doesn't play by the rules." She snorted. "Would you believe he never once said 'out of the way! She's mine!'? I thought there was like a _law_ that villains had to say that…"

She had, a few times in her life, _been_ a villain, and she had always made sure to say that. Few changelings went through their lives without flirting with the opposite Court at least once or twice. Mennavere was a monster-slayer, a dashing hero who lived for the thrill of righteous adventure, but there had been a time when she had needed vengeance, and another when there had been a chance for wealth and power just too good to pass up, and her Unseelie half had… emerged. And it hadn't been pretty… but it had followed certain _rules_. You played your part in the Pageant, the great theatre of life, and you acted that part. You didn't just hang people up by their feet while waiting to rape and torture them. You made sure to have _style_.

Jax had _something_ – a sort of high-grade horribleness that awed you with its soul-crushing inevitability – but she didn't think she'd want to call it style.

"Well, we don't like Jax very much," Torus said. "He's killed a couple of us, you know." His small face took on an expression that was half childish pouting, and half something much older and more merciless. "With cold iron. He'll pay for that. But before we get him properly, we'll spite him every chance we'll get."

"No." Jenny frowned. "Sorry, but… no. I don't buy it. You're the Wildlings, aren't you? You and I should be killing each other. The only reason you'd save me is if you're involved in something more complicated than just a straightforward war." She paused. "Or if the one you're taking orders from is."

Torus threw his head back and laughed. The next second, the fauns all scattered, racing off with the speed that only Satyrs could manage. Before Jenny even had the chance to call them back, the last of them had disappeared from sight.

"Is it time to start worrying yet?" Jameel said, smiling faintly.

"That might not be a bad idea, no…" Jenny said.

---

"So now what do we do?" Jameel said, once they had worried in silence for a while. His head was still spinning with the relief of having gotten away from Jax, but he couldn't quite relish the sensation. There were too many strange things going on. All this seemed like it was part of some larger game, and he didn't know the rules. It was almost enough to make him think he'd been better off at Jax's tender mercies. At least he knew what Jax was all about.

Well, okay, so no, he hadn't really been better off, because what Jax was all about was doing grievous bodily harm to people, and knowing that you were going to get killed messily wasn't any better than not knowing anything at all. Still, it was human nature to think that one's current predicament was the worst one yet.

"I'm kind of adventured out for today," Jenny said. "I think I want to go back to the Solitary Tower, boot Big Brian's ass out of there, and sleep for twenty hours straight."

"What about our quest?" Jameel said. Nothing had changed for him, after all. He still needed to find Old Josey, or Mercher was going to hold out on him indefinitely. And with Jax in town, he _needed_ his magic…

Jenny shrugged.

"Oh, we'll get back to it tomorrow," she said. "Once we've licked our wounds and all that."

"Yeah, okay," Jameel said. He had to admit that some serious wound-licking didn't sound wrong. His nerves were shot to hell. "Want to grab a cup of coffee or something before we split?"

Jenny gave him an amused glance. Jameel's cheeks felt a little hot as he realised what she was thinking.

"To talk it through?" he said. "Because, you know, this is all kind of weird?" He smiled crookedly. "Grant me the intelligence to recognise _out of my league _when I see it, okay?"

Jenny laughed.

"Yeah, okay."

They found a café, and Jameel demonstrated his enlightened attitude as well as his economical good sense by not objecting to Jenny paying. Jameel stirred his coffee (cream and sugar, and plenty of both) as he tried to get his thoughts together. Jenny was already slurping away at something foamy with a long Italian name.

"So," he said. "The obvious scenario. Lord Broch wants to kill Old Josey and thinks you and I can do it. He has Mercher tell me to do the job, he has Gretta tell you, and he gives the Solitary Tower to Big Brian for the duration of the quest, either because he thinks Brian is the best for the job…"

Jenny snorted with the outmost contempt.

"… or, more probably," Jameel admitted, "because he likes to keep the loyalty of monsters. Gretta suggests we try the Noisy Tomb because her informers have told her they know where Josey is there. The people at the Noisy Tomb, on their hand, crack under our pressure and tell us Josey is in Icespire, because that's where he was last they heard. Meanwhile, Jax has come to town to hunt me down, and he just _happens_ to have set up shop in Icespire, which is where we come blundering in. So, how likely do you think this scenario is?"

"Not very." Jenny wiped foam from her upper lip with her napkin. "Mind you, Broch's a nut. He might do just about anything, for no apparent reason." She tapped her chin. "But even with that, there are some major coincidences. And you didn't explain the Wildlings."

"Because I _can't_ explain the Wildlings," Jameel said. "They don't fit into the obvious scenario."

"Okay. Less obvious." Jenny looked up at the ceiling. "Hmm... okay, here's scenario number two. Broch wants to kill us. Josey, therefore, wants to keep us alive."

Jameel gave her a dubious look.

"This one I've got to hear."

"Well, it makes sense," Jenny said. "Kind of. See, Broch wants us both dead. We're too noble and honourable for his taste. He prefers Big Brian as the Knight of the Solitary Tower. So he has his minions send us to the _Noisy Tomb_, where _his_ informers have told him that Jax has friends. So those friends send us on to Icespire, and probably has someone run ahead to tell Jax we're coming, too. Bam – we're Jax's prisoners, about to be raped and killed, and Broch is rid of us!"

"'Noble and honourable'?" Jameel said.

Jenny gave him a wide, innocent grin.

"Well, I realise that I can speak only for myself here," she said.

"Quite." Jameel winced. "Why not just execute us, then?"

"Well, I do have _some_ friends left at court," Jenny said. "They'd be cranky."

"I don't, though."

"Okay, so maybe Broch just wants to kill me," Jenny said. "And Jax just wants to kill you. But Broch knows that Jax is going to kill anyone who shows up along with you, so he makes sure that you show up with me. You're the spoonful of sugar to make the medicine of me go down."

"You know, that's not very flattering for either of us," Jameel said.

"Tell me about it."

"Okay, so what about the Wildlings?"

"Oh, right. Them." Jenny chewed on her lip. "Well, Old Josey, through his dark and arcane Arts, has found out that we're in trouble and it's Broch's fault. So, hoping to get some recruits for his rebellion, he sends in his Wildlings, who spring us…"

"… and then disappear without making the slightest attempt to win us for their cause?" Jameel said.

"Yeah. Damn. Didn't think of that. Okay, scenario three…"


	4. Chapter 4

It was a great deal later. The sun was setting outside of the window, and a minor army of coffee cups were littering the table, along with a number of sandwich wrappings.

"Okay, okay, I've got an even better one," Jenny said. "Scenario thirty-one. Ready?"

"Hit me."

"Josey did it." Jenny leaned back, crossed her arms and looked smug.

"Which part?" Jameel said.

"All of them." Jenny started counting off points on her fingers. "First, he got Mercher on his side by promising him that he'll get to be Head of Garbage Disposal in the worker's paradise that Josey will establish once he gains power."

"Head of Garbage Disposal?"

"Yep." Jenny nodded sagely. "It's his life-long dream."

"He's a Boggan. They _hate_ everything that's dirty."

"Ah, but Mercher had a traumatising experience with a bar of soap when he was a young childling," Jenny said. "So now he hates cleanliness. He has become the long-prophesised and much dreaded Anti-Boggan. It's really quite tragic."

"Right," Jameel said. "What about Big Brian?"

"Oh, Josey has him under a spell of Sovereignty," Jenny said.

"And Gretta?"

"I didn't want to insult your intelligence by pointing out that she's obviously Josey's lovechild with a charming Slaugh witch he met in his wild youth, and that she's now trying to build a relationship with her long-lost Daddy."

"Jax?" Jameel said in a tone of morbid curiosity.

"Being a member of the Shadow Court and thereby an incarnation of all that is evil and un-American, he is course completely in favour of worker's paradises and wants to help Josey in any and all ways."

"Okay." Jameel nodded slowly. "And… _why_?"

"Josey wants to impress me with his mad scheming skills," Jenny said, "in the hopes that that will make me succumb to him and become his love slave."

"And what's my part in this?" Jameel said.

"Oh, everyone knows that the raw, bloody heart of a _Kinain_ is an industrial-strength aphrodisiac."

"Yuk!"

"Don't blame me. All Satyrs are perverts. So, what do you think?"

Jameel sat silent for a moment. Then he sighed and held out his hands.

"I give! You win! I can't think of a single scenario that's more stupid and implausible than that one!"

Jenny laughed and punched the air.

"Yes! I am victorious! I am unbeaten! I am amazing in countless amazing ways! Everyone sucks but me!" She got up from her chair and started gyrating to an imagined beat. "Go me! Go me! Go – go – go me!"

"Have you ever heard of winning gracefully?" Jameel said dryly.

"I have. It sounded boring." Jenny leaned her elbows on the back of her chair. "Mind you, I have to admit that you almost had me with scenario twenty-eight."

"The one where this was all master-minded by hyper-intelligent chimerical entities from another dimension?" Jameel said.

"Yeah, that one was a sweetheart." Jenny smiled wryly. "But seriously, we're pretty much not going to get anywhere today, are we?"

"I guess." Jameel got up and swept his cloak around him. "Let's go home."

The two of them walked back out into the cold and started off down the street.

"And first thing tomorrow," Jenny said, "we go out and start twisting arms. Brains have failed us, let's try some brawn."

"Got to study, first thing tomorrow," Jameel said. "How about first thing tomorrow afternoon?"

"Okay. I guess." Jenny glanced at him. "Except now I'm wondering how I can even get near you without Mennavere going into remission from Banality overexposure. You'd seriously rather study than go adventuring?"

Jameel's mouth twitched, like he was suppressing a smile.

"Twisting arms doesn't sound that adventurous," he said. "More like beating on a lot of different people in turn until one tells you anything."

"Yeah." Jenny shrugged. "But, I mean, every job has these long, boring streaks between the excitements. Learning to fence wasn't much fun either, but I knew I had to get good at it before I could go on adventures. And now, we need to find the bad guy before we can kick the bad guy's ass. You sort of have to focus on _why_ you're doing what you're doing. Like, 'I know my muscles are aching and my armour is chafing and I've got three more places to try before lunch, but it's all to uphold my liege-lord's honour and defeat the evil-doers like a true knight should.'"

"Right," Jameel said.

They walked in silence for a few minutes.

"But," Jameel then said, "right now your liege-lord is this nutty sorcerer who seems like he's trying to suck every scrap of Glamour out of the duchy, and never mind what happens after it's all gone, and who – correct me if I'm wrong – pretty obviously forged those documents proclaiming him regent. Yes?"

"You're not wrong," Jenny said. "Not that anyone can prove it, mind."

"And the 'evil-doer' in this case," Jameel went on, "is Old Josey, faithful friend to good old Duke Drackus, and generally regarded as the noble rebel outlaw fighting the oppressive regime."

"Your point?" Jenny said.

"Well, doesn't that sort of take the fun out of it?" Jameel said.

Jenny glared at him. He didn't look like he was trying to annoy her, though. He just looked puzzled.

"It beats sitting in a tower day in and day out, holding a nine-year-old prisoner," she said. "So I'm not going to complain. But _yes_, if you have to know. It _does_ take most of the fun out of it."

"So why do it?" Jameel said. "I mean, _I_ don't have a choice, but you?"

Jenny shrugged.

"This is what I do. This is who Mennavere _is_."

"Well, correct me if I'm wrong," Jameel said, "but isn't Mennavere just half of you?"

Jenny closed her eyes for a moment. She wondered if she should snap at him. She would have, if he hadn't insisted on sounding so polite and reasonable. He was prodding her every sore spot, but he wasn't doing it rudely enough that she felt she could chew him out for it.

"She's the half with a life," she said. "There's nothing for Jenny anymore. Look, can we not talk about this? You're nice and all, but I just met you today, and this is all kind of personal."

"Sorry." Jameel smiled. "I'm nosy. It's an occupational vice for sorcerers, I think."

"Apology accepted." Jenny rubbed her ears. The points were starting to go numb. One of the side effects of wearing a padded helmet was that it warmed you up very nicely. "So, this is where I catch my bus." She pointed to an approaching bus stop. "Meet me here tomorrow at one?"

Jameel shrugged.

"Works for me." He made a sort of sloppy salute. "See you then."

He strolled off down the street. At about the same time, the bus appeared around the street corner and approached the stop. Jenny considered for a moment, then called after Jameel.

"And I'm not out of your league!"

He turned, wide-eyed.

"You're… not?" he said.

"Heck no." Jenny grinned. "I've boinked guys who were _much_ homelier than you!"

"Thanks, that's…" Jameel considered. "… not a compliment at all, actually…"

"Wasn't trying to give you a compliment," Jenny said. "I'm just saying, you'll never accomplish anything if you're that quick to decide things are hopeless!"

Her timing was impeccable – right after her delivering that line, the bus stopped and she got on it, leaving Jameel flabbergasted. A Sidhe who didn't know how to make an exit was no Sidhe at all.

---

Jameel trudged homewards, feeling very wiped out and in a particularly sulking mood. It wasn't the bare fact that Jax was back and out to get him. It was the way the world seemed to go out of its way to pile mysteries and setbacks on him. Jax and Josey and unlikely conspiracies and no more Glamour and damn Jenny anyway for thinking that part shot had been funny…

It was a harsh day indeed, when one had to go through all that he had gone through, and end with having one's manhood insulted. Even the fact that that probably hadn't been what Jenny had intended didn't help much. To the best of Jameel's guess, it had been something like a matter of principle to her. She was a Fiona, after all, and the Fiona were lechers with wide tastes – as far as they were concerned, _everything_ was sexy, if properly considered. What Jenny had thrown him, he supposed, had been partly a tease and mostly a philosophical rebuke.

Well, that was damn easy for _her _to say, wasn't it? Sidhe never felt insecure about their bodies, on account of them all having perfect bodies, so they failed to see why someone else should.

The only girl who'd ever wanted to sleep with Jameel had turned out to be trying to turn him over to the cause of darkness and evil. He'd be willing to bet money he didn't have that Jenny couldn't say _that_.

Damn women.

Damn Sidhe.

Damn full-blood fae, with their stupid Birthrights and their stupid immortality and their stupid ability to actually _believe_ in all that naïve crap they always spouted, and by believing it making it true…

Jameel's paranoia, honed to perfection over a summer where everyone really _was_ out to get him, suddenly began yelling at him that there had been a motion in the shadows of a dark alley, and that it didn't like that motion at all. Jameel went rigid, then slowly turned.

Jax stepped out of the alley mouth, smoking a cigarette. He had a long wound stretching down his face, roughly stitched together with thick, black thread.

"Hey, Jameel." The Redcap smirked. "I always knew you were trouble. That's what I like about you."

"Stay away from me." Jameel inched his hands towards appropriate pockets in his cloak. "Unless you want me to conjure living flame into your guts, you stay away from me."

"What's with the hostility?" Jax took a few slow, lazy steps closer. "I just want to talk to you for a bit. I can talk to my old friends, can't I?"

"What's with the hostility is that you set a giant psycho bird on me and then hung me from the ceiling in chains," Jameel said. He had his hand around what he had been after now.

"You shut up about Weekwaweel, man," Jax said. He scowled, showing a lot of sharp teeth. "I'm going to do that murdering fucking whore who killed him, just so you know. I'm going to fuck her through every hole she's got, and when I'm done, I'm going to start making her some new ones."

"That's charming. Really. So nice to see you. Bye-bye now." Jameel drew the silvery Christmas marble out of his cloak pocket and threw it into the air. Jax's eyes went wide, and he followed the marble's flight with a slack-jawed stare. Jameel turned and ran.

After a few seconds, he heard the marble smash against the street, and a few seconds after that he heard Jax's roar of fury as he came to and realised that Jameel was accelerating down the street.

Jameel didn't turn to see if Jax would follow him, because he knew damn well that Jax would follow him. He just ran, zigzagging between pedestrians, running red lights, and getting a lot of people swearing loudly after him. His heart was pounding, his lungs were screaming with pain, but luckily, the campus was close. He ran in through the door and stopped, gasping and wheezing.

Steps slowed down outside.

"So what happens if I walk over that threshold?" Jax snarled.

"Everything." Jameel turned around, still leaning against the wall for support. "Everything I could come up with. You'd need an army to get in here."

For another six hours, at least. Then the wards would need to be recharged. And Mercher had cut off his Glamour supply…

Jax sneered.

"It so happens that I've got one. Want me to fetch it?"

Jameel's heart sank.

"You'd lose half, forcing your way in," he said hoarsely.

"Half of my army could still take you apart."

"I'd get you first." Jameel scowled, resorting to bluster for lack of anything better. "I'd make sure of it. I've got a cold iron knife in my room, want me to levitate it into your heart? Want to _die_, Jax? Not just be human for a few months. Not just be disembodied and have to find some infant to merge with. Actually _die_, like us regular folks do."

Jax spat.

"Like I'm afraid of you, you fucking little sorcerer fag."

"Can't you just leave me alone?" Jameel hated himself for saying it, and he hated the plea in his voice even more. "I'm not a threat to you, I've never done _anything_ to you, why do you hate me so much?"

"I don't." Jax spat. "You're a bug. Only problem is, you're a bug who doesn't get how this works. You owe the Shadow Court, and oh man, you do _not_ skip out on that. I keep trying to tell you, but you just won't fucking _get_ it."

He made a quick move forwards, as if to rush through the doorway, and laughed when Jameel took a leap backwards.

"So this is it," Jax said. "Last warning. You tried to run, but here I am, so get it into your head that it's not going to work. You _will_ pay what you owe, in goods and services or in blood!"

Jameel stared at him for a moment. Jax looked half pissed off, half gleeful, like he was getting off on his own hatred for all things.

"If I said… I wanted it to be goods and services…?" Jameel finally said.

This was bad, and he knew it. The Shadow Court was evil. The Shadow Court was _intentionally_ evil – evil for the sake of being evil, in a way that made no sense for human beings but made a whole lot of sense for faeries, because faeries were incarnations of dreams and evil was a very old and powerful dream. This was more than just wrong. This was selling your soul.

_I haven't said I'll do it,_ he told himself. _I'm just asking, that's all._ _No harm in just asking._

"Well…" Jax studied Jameel. "That cold iron knife of yours? Slice your Sidhe bitch's throat with it."

Jameel couldn't keep back a small gasp, only half a breath, at that. Jax noticed, and his expression of ecstatic gloating was horrible to see. But of course that wasn't enough. Jax wouldn't be Jax if he didn't twist the knife.

"_After_ you've raped her," he added.

Jameel slowly shook his head.

"Oh, don't be such a pussy," Jax said. "It'll take five minutes and be fun. I'm being a nice guy here, you know. I _could_ have told you _you'd_ have to bend over for _me_, but no, I'm telling you to fuck a hot bitch. Can I have a 'thank you'?"

Jameel stared.

"Or else we can go for the blood option," Jax said. "Your call. Think it through, would you?"

He walked away, laughing. Jameel remained standing in the doorway, feeling cold.


	5. Chapter 5

Solitary Tower, say hi to Jenny. Jenny, say hi to the Solitary Tower.

Big Brian, say good-bye to your ass.

Jenny was standing across the street from the Tower, shivering slightly and wishing she had thought to bring her cigarettes. It seemed inappropriate to lurk ominously outside of your home, plotting the right way to throw out the usurper currently sitting in there, without having a smouldering cigarette in the corner of your mouth. But she hadn't grabbed a pack while leaving this morning, so now Big Brian had her cigarettes along with all her other possessions.

Screw it. She should stop smoking anyway. Valiant knights shouldn't die of lung cancer.

So what was the situation? Well, Big Brian had superhuman strength, all her weapons, access to the Glamour of her Freehold, and a solid door between him and her. She had… an empty sword sheathe.

Right. This was one of those 'use your head' moments, then, yes?

She spotted a heavyset young man getting into his car a bit further down the street.

"Hoy! Studly!" She ran over. "Can you spare me a smoke? Pretty, pretty please?"

The heavyset young man glanced at her. He had a big, round face with a shaved scalp and a surprising number of piercings.

"Yeah, okay," he grunted and produced a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket. Jenny snatched it from him. "Hey!"

"Just a moment." Jenny made a big show out of choosing one particular cigarette. While she did so, she sent a little of her Glamour into the pack. "Here, thanks." She handed it back, and the man took it.

Accepting – at least as far as the laws of the Dreaming were concerned – a faerie's gift.

His eyes widened.

"Hey, I just noticed this," he said, "but you're an elf."

"A Sidhe," Jenny corrected him. "Yeah. The name's Jenny. What's yours?"

"Er… Bob." The man blinked. "I didn't know there were Sidhe living around here."

"We try to keep a low profile," Jenny said. "Otherwise we just get swarmed with paparazzi."

"Huh." Bob smiled proudly. "I'm really being amazingly calm about this."

"Yeah, I've enchanted you," Jenny said. "That means that you're in a semi-sleepwalking state where you can see the world as it really is, and which makes you capable of accepting it all as easily as you would things in a dream."

"Oh," Bob said. He pondered this. "Cool," he said.

"Hey, can you help me with something?" Jenny said. "See that tower over there? I live there. Only now I've been kicked out by an ugly old ogre. Can you help me kick him a little back?"

"I dunno…" Bob said. "Not sure I'm ogre-kicking material."

"I'd reward you with the pleasure of my thighs," Jenny said. She got a blank look in return. "That is, sex. With me. Lots of it."

"Well… okay, then," Bob said after a brief libido-versus-cowardice grudge match.

"Great!" Jenny pulled him over to the gates of the Solitary Tower. "Now, we need to smash the door down. Driving your car into it might work."

"Aw, come on," Bob said. "I'm unemployed! I can't afford to send the car to the shop because I had to use it as a battering ram!"

"Well, you're just going to have to find a new job," Jenny said firmly. "I want my Tower back."

"Can't we just call a locksmith or something?" Bob kicked the door. It opened. "Hey."

"Huh." Jenny peeked inside. All the torches were out, and the stairway was illuminated only by faint traces of streetlight finding their way in. "I guess Big Brian is _so_ stupid that he actually forgot to lock the damn thing."

Bob grinned smugly.

"And _you_ wanted to trash my car to get in."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa," Jenny mumbled as she snapped her fingers, making bluish light erupt from her fingertips. Holding the witch-light ahead of her, she walked inside and started scaling the stairs. Bob walked after her, occasionally making carefree comments about the mosaics on the walls, the length of the stair, and how unusual it was to find towers were no towers had previously been.

Jenny's quarters were dark and deserted, though the TV was on and showing one sitcom or another. There was no Big Brian. There was no…

_Shit._

"Malenna?" Jenny shouted. "_Malenna_!"

There was no answer. Jenny ran into Malenna's room – the door was unlocked and ajar – and found it empty. The prisoner was gone, but true to form she seemed to have made her bed and put away her magazines before leaving…

_I'm screwed,_ was the first thing she thought. A bit later, a more hopeful thought appeared. _Or possibly Big Brian is._

She sat down on the small bed, running her hands through her hair. This changed everything. Or at least she thought so. She was just too tired to figure out exactly what it changed it into.

Of course, the good point about not having had a clue what was going on was that you didn't have to discard any theories when it all changed…

"Hey. Uh." Bob came into the room, looking around awkwardly. "Is, like, your kid gone or something?"

"Not my kid." Jenny sighed. "My prisoner. My liege-lord is going to have my head for this."

"Yeah, I hear you," Bob said. "All bosses are assholes."

Jenny looked up.

"Why did yours fire you, by the way?" she said for lack of anything more coherent going through her head.

"Apparently, there was a company policy against telling your foreman to get bent."

"Ah."

_I'm going to be in trouble for this,_ Jenny thought. _Of course, I didn't do anything. So if Broch slaps me down for it, he's in violation of the oaths of fealty, and I can start hacking off outlying areas without breaking the laws of the Dreaming._

And that wasn't an _entirely_ cheerful thought, because it begged the question what she'd do once she was through with Broch and his outlying areas and didn't have a liege-lord to serve, but at least it put a silver lining on the whole thing.

"So, like…" Bob said. His gaze darted nervously. "Are we still, you know… on? For the, well, thighs thing?"

Jenny considered. On the downside, not too bright and not too cute, and ugh, what was with that nose ring? On the plus side, nice enough, and, oooooh, big swelling muscles…

"Yeah, okay." She touched a buckle of her armour. "Assuming you can help me get the mail off, because I think it's gotten dented and stuck…"


	6. Chapter 6

_I'm not sure what surprises me more – how unbelievably slowly I'm writing this story, or the fact that I'm still writing on it without having lost interest in almost a year and a half._

_There are more chapters after this one, but I think I'll post them one at the time, thereby creating the illusion that I'm writing at a steady pace rather than doing nothing for months and then writing a big chunk in a couple of days…_

---

Jameel was pacing back and forth in his room, and had done so for the last hour, when Roland woke up.

"Quit stomping like that," he muttered as he tried to focus his bleery eyes into a decent glare.

"Sorry," Jameel said.

Roland checked his alarm clock. It said "4:42."

"You're up early," he said. "Even for you."

"Couldn't sleep." Jameel sat down on his bed. Pacing had at least been better than tossing and turning, though for preference, he'd have gone for a walk. He just didn't feel like being outside, alone, at night right now. Even if Jax _said_ Jameel would have time to think about his offer, he could change his mind at any time. Heck, psychos like Jax took pride in being unpredictable and unreasonable, didn't they? That sort of thing scared people, and scaring people was Jax's great joy in life.

Roland sat up, stretched and yawned. He peered at Jameel.

"And you're not really your usual chipper more-of-an-early-bird-than-thou self," he said. "What's up?"

Jameel licked his lips.

"I… may be in some trouble," he said.

Roland looked at him for a moment. Then he got out of bed and headed over to the kitchen nook.

"I'll make us some coffee," he said. "You tell me what's going on."

Jameel hesitated. He supposed he _could_ tell Roland. A part of it, at least. The changelings had something called the Right of Ignorance, which meant that you weren't supposed to clue the humans in on the existence of changeling society. Not that that stopped horny Sidhe from enchanting their lovers left and right, or any proper changeling from enchanting anyone they wanted to use for cantrip target practice, but woe betide the lowly _Kinain_ who stirred up a hornet's nest. But with changelings, everything had a magical and a mundane part…

"I was in a gang," he said. "Back in Boston."

Roland turned his head and raised an eyebrow, his hands not stopping their work with putting filters in the coffee maker.

"Okay," he said. "Not what I expected. _You_ were in a gang?"

Jameel felt that the stress on 'you' was a bit insulting.

"Yes," he said. "What of it?"

"Well, you've got long hair," Roland said. "You talk like a professor. You are, all in all, kind of gay."

"I am not!"

"Okay, but I'm just saying…" Roland said.

"Women are completely unattracted to _me_, not the other way around!"

"Yes, but what I'm _saying_," Roland said indulgently, "is that I would have thought any gang worth their badass tattoos would have eaten you alive. No offence."

Jameel glared.

"Very little taken. And for the record, it was an upwardly mobile gang. They needed someone around who could, you know, spell."

"Fair enough. Fair enough." Roland smiled faintly. "So now what's happened?"

"They've followed me here," Jameel said. "Apparently, they have one of those 'once you're in, you're in for life' clauses."

"Well. That certainly sucks." Roland put the coffee maker to puttering and went to sit down on his bed again. "So you're afraid they're going to hurt you?"

Jameel shrugged and sighed.

"They say I've got two options. Either they kill me brutally…"

"Bad option," Roland said sagely. "We like the other option already, yes we do."

"… or I rape and kill someone for them."

Roland went silent.

"O… kay…" he then said. "That's not much of an option either."

"Tell me about it."

Roland looked thoughtful.

"Could you go to the police?" he said.

Jameel considered that. Could he? Maybe. Jax _was_ a criminal, no matter how you looked at it. And human policemen, hard and cynical people who would turn up dripping Banality all over the place… It might just work.

Broch would crucify him for it, of course, but hey, Jameel was pretty sure that Broch wasn't as inventive as Jax about these things…

"I could," he said, "but I'd rather not."

Roland nodded.

"I guess I see why. They'd find out of whatever you did before you got out, right?"

Jameel hadn't done anything that the human cops would care about, though just being in contact with the Shadow Court would be enough to get him unpleasant attention from the faerie authorities. He nodded anyway; it was an explanation Roland could accept.

"Hmm." Roland rubbed his chin. "Could you fake it?"

"Fake what?" Jameel said.

"The raping and killing part," Roland said. "I mean, if these badasses you used to run with wants this woman raped and killed, she'll want to get the hell out of Dodge, won't she? Because if you won't do the honours, they'll find someone who will, right? So maybe you could fake her death somehow. Get her to leave town and say you weighted the duly raped corpse and dumped it in the ocean."

"You're being scarily analytical!" Jameel said accusingly. "This is all just an interesting logical problem to you, isn't it?"

"Well, I can't deny that I enjoy solving scenarios…" Roland said.

"This 'scenario' is my _life_!"

"Oh, come on." Roland tapped him on the forehead with two fingers. "Wouldn't you rather have an unfeeling bastard helping you to reason this out than to have a shoulder to cry on but no constructive help whatsoever?"

"I guess not," Jameel said.

"Well, then." Roland smiled helpfully. "_Could_ you get her to help you fake it?"

Jameel considered the chances of getting Jenny to leave her post and cowardly run away from Jax.

"I could always ask," he said.

"Good man."

After he had forced some coffee down his uneasy belly, Jameel went to reinforce his wards. After that, he was pretty much running on fumes, Glamour-wise, but maybe he could get hold of some more from somewhere. Or maybe he would just have to resign himself to the wards not doing any good either way – if Jax wanted him, Jax would happily kill half his own army to get to him. You just couldn't do much about someone who cared more about being badass than about being smart.

After that, he used the pay phone down the hall to make a long-distance call home. He managed to get his sleepy-sounding father on the line, but that conversation was if anything less concerting than the one with Roland.

"This knight Jax hates so much…" Jeremiah Johnson said once Jameel had described the entire sorry mess.

"Lady Mennavere."

"Right. Could you take her?"

Jameel was struck mute.

"Son?"

"Could I… could I _take_ her?" Jameel struggled for words. "I can't believe you're asking me that!"

"Well, I think it's an important question to answer before we consider your options, don't you?"

Jameel pressed his head against the wall.

"M-maybe…" he said. "Yeah. Yeah, I could take her. Not in a fair fight, probably, but I could get her by surprise. She wouldn't see it coming, she's not that smart… but dad, you can't possibly ask me to do… _that_!"

"I'm not asking you to do anything," Jeremiah said. "I'm just asking you to remember that I want you to live. And that I'll always love you, no matter what happens. No matter what you do. Can you remember that, Jameel?"

That was a marker of sorts, Jameel reasoned when he left the dorm, heading for the Solitary Tower. If your father told you to become a rapist-murderer, then things had officially gone from bad to really fucking awful.

Jenny had claimed that she would take back the Solitary Tower on her own, using nothing but wits and cantrips. Jameel was somewhat dubious to the whole idea, but he supposed that she had been a knight long enough to know what she was talking about. And if not, Big Brian might know where she was. In fact, she might just be in Big Brian's roasting pot, in which case all Jameel had to do was bribe Big Brian into claiming that Jameel had put her there, if asked.

The gates to the Tower were open, though, and someone up the stairs was snoring the snore of someone whose nose had seen better days. Jameel ascended, keeping his hands well visible. When entering the lair of a _Thallain_, it was probably wise to look like you realised how small and squishy you were. Otherwise, the monster might decide to demonstrate it to you.

The only person in Jenny's room, though, was a big, bald guy with far more nose-rings than any sensible person should have. He was spread across the bed, and the blanket was bunched on top of him in a way that came much too close to revealing things Jameel really didn't want to see.

"Hey. You." Jameel took a sports magazine from the nightstand, rolled it up and poked the sleeper in the ribs with it. "Wake up."

The man made a complicated snuffling noise and opened his eyes.

"Uh? What?" he said.

"Good morning," Jameel said. He sat down on a chair. "Where's Jenny?"

"Jenny… Jenny…" the man mumbled. "Errrr… I think I dreamed of someone named Jenny…" He looked around, bleary-eyed. "Uh. Am I in some kind of, like, castle tower like from _Lord of the Rings_ or something?"

"You are. Yes."

"Oh." The man nodded soberly. "Guess that wasn't a dream, then."

Jameel sighed. So the fellow was enchanted, or else he'd seen an attic or something.

_She can afford to pump this guy full of Glamour so she can get him into bed,_ he thought resentfully. _But not a drop of the stuff does she offer to _me_, who she's supposed to work with! I call that disgraceful._

_Mind you, seeing as all sorts of people are telling me to kill her, maybe it means she's smarter than I give her credit for…_

"Hey, are you, like, her servant?" the guy said. "Elves are supposed to have human servants, right?"

"I most certainly am not," Jameel said. "I'm Jameel. I'm a sorcerer." Kind of. Sort of. Mostly. He _would_ be a sorcerer eventually, honest. Assuming he wouldn't get brutally slaughtered by anyone before then, at least.

"Oh. I'm Bob." The newly identified Bob sat up and stretched. His muscles had the bad taste to actually _ripple_ when he moved. Jameel hated people whose muscles rippled, on the principle that _his_ muscles were all but invisible without X-rays. "So you're just a guy who does magic, then? Not an elf or something?"

"I've got some Sidhe blood in me," said Jameel, who had taken offence to 'just,' stiffly. "It makes it easier for me to stay enchanted."

"Enchanted," Bob said. "That's this whole see-magic-stuff-and-don't-be-bothered-because-it's-just-a-dream thing?"

"Yes," Jameel said, who didn't like to hear it expressed like that, but was eager to get to the point; the point being that he was superior to any ripple-muscled Sidhe love toys that happened to be in the area. "We're both enchanted, but you're burning through the energy that's keeping you that way at a much faster rate. You'll have forgotten all about this tomorrow at the very latest. _I _can stay like this for a month on what very little Glamour I have left."

Bob blinked.

"Why would you want to?" he said.

Jameel gaped. He hadn't been prepared for that one.

"I mean," Bob said, "this is all very cool and all, but come on. All the colours are too strong. Even the smells… I figure if a guy lived like this for too long, he'd go a little funny in the head, you know?"

Wild horses could not have dragged from Jameel the admission that he had last been without Glamour in his system when he was nineteen.

"Just tell me where Jenny is," he said tiredly.

"Er…" Bob scratched his hairless head. "She said she had to go see the faerie King or something like that. She said we'd meet back at my place later today, because she had some more work for me."

"Really," Jameel said.

"Well, I mean, I haven't actually done _any_ work for her," Bob said. "What with there being no ogre to slay and all. I mean, I guess I did some stuff for her, but it wasn't work, as such…"

"Stop talking. Stop talking now."


	7. Chapter 7

Jenny was feeling remarkably cheerful, which she found a bit disturbing. It had been so long since she was last cheerful that it almost felt unnatural. And right now it was downright crazy, seeing as she was going to her unreasonable, ruthless and quite possibly insane and evil liege-lord to report failure. And just to make it worse, said liege-lord might actually have intended for her to die on that stupid mission.

Still, as she strolled up the path to the Freehold of the Singing Sapphire, she caught herself whistling a merry tune.

_Afterglow?_ she suggested to herself, but that couldn't be it. If all she'd needed was an orgasm, then Brad and Chad (unless it had been Tad) would have done the trick.

_They were provided for me, though. Yesterday, I actually seduced someone. Sure, it was a random bystander and I only seduced him as part of a scheme that turned out not even to be necessary, but I did. And before that, I spent the day having thrilling adventures and meeting interesting people. It was, in fact, the kind of day I _used_ to have._

Maybe that was what all that she needed, she mused as she knocked on the door, wincing at the way her hand went numb from touching the cold iron. Maybe she just needed to get back into the spirit of things. Could it be that simple?

Probably not. She sighed. If everything had been right with her, she'd never have gotten out of the spirit of things in the first place.

_Yeah, but at least I've proven I've still got it in me. I'll figure out what's wrong and deal with it. Banality's just one more dragon, and I'll damn well slay it!_

_ Somehow._

Mercher opened the door and squinted at her.

"Howdy!" Jenny said. "I'm here to see his Gracelessness!"

"Hr," Mercher said. "And do you have an appointment, my Lady?"

Jenny pulled herself up in her full height, which was moderately impressive for a woman. Not that it needed to be – at five foot one, Mercher was towered over by most people he met.

"Mercher," she said. "I'm Lady Mennavere of the Solitary Tower. Mennavere the Wyrmslayer. Mennavere the Mauler. I am Mennavere, who climbed the Pestilent Spire to retrieve the Singing Sapphire when Lord Bloodshark had stolen it; I'm Mennavere, who went through six trials to be apprenticed to Harl Flameweaver. And if you don't move your ass and let me in, Mercher, I'm going to be Mennavere who beat upon your tiny ass until you cried like the pitiful little man-bitch you are. Do I make myself clear?"

Mercher's wrinkled face had gone decidedly pale.

"Hr…" he said.

"And less of the 'hr,'" Jenny said. "It's not even a word."

Mercher hurried into the Freehold is quickly that Jenny had to pick up a brisk pace to follow him.

Broch was laying spread across his throne, flunkies and petitioners waiting around below the dais. Jenny considered getting in line like a good girl. She considered it all of three point six seconds, in fact; after that, she took a deep breath and yelled:

"YO, BROCH! MOMENT OF YOUR TIME?"

A lot of faces turned around in shock, though not in disapproval – anything a Sidhe did always looked like just the thing to do, because it was a Sidhe who was doing it. Jenny grinned. Back before all this, when the Duchy of Howling Winds had just been a backwater province with a total changeling population of seventy-two, the court had been used to Jenny's lack of patience with protocol, but most of the faces around the place had changed since then.

Of course, back before all this, Drackus had been in charge, and so Jenny had tried… a _little_ harder to control herself.

For a moment, she thought Broch would order someone to attack her, which would have been interesting and also conveniently freed her of that pesky oath that kept her at Broch's beck and call, but Broch just beckoned her forward with a huge, deformed hand. Jenny walked up onto the dais, Mercher trailing nervously behind her.

"Mennavere…" Broch said. He was a Slaugh, like Gretta, and shared the curse of never being able to speak louder than a whisper. But whereas Gretta just seemed like she was too shy to do more than mumble, Broch's gurgling, hissing voice gave the impression that it had trouble getting out of the cavernous hollows inside of that bloated body.

"My Lord Regent." Jenny gracefully went down on her knees.

"Insolent…" Broch sighed. "If not for your skill with the blade, I might have dispatched you already…"

"What blade?" Mercher piped up. "Looks like she's, hr, lost it!"

"Really…" Broch raised his swollen head with difficulty. "You have lost Sauraq, the black blade that slew the Ogre of Mousepool? Mennavere, you disappoint me…"

Jenny blushed.

"I _will_ win it back," she said between her teeth. "My Lord need not trouble himself."

"Ahhhh…" The twisted expression on Broch's face might have been his version of a smirk. "With what _do_ I need trouble myself, Mennavere?"

"I want to know why you ordered me to go after Old Josey," Jenny said. "Just me, with a _Kinain_ sorcerer apprentice as my only help? Am I betrayed, my Lord?"

"You dare accuse the Lord Regent of betrayal?" Mercher said. "_Here_? He could have you beheaded on the spot! Hrrr! Your foolhardiness knows no bounds!"

Jenny shrugged.

"It's a Fiona thing. Don't try to understand it."

"I gave no such order…" Broch's sunken eyes narrowed. "Foolishness… I will deal with Josey in my own time…"

"I got it from Gretta," Jenny said. "She's still your envoy, right? And Big Brian confirmed it, when he arrived to take over," she scowled, "_my_ Freehold until I got back."

"Brian tells a different tale…" Broch said. "He claims he found your Freehold deserted, your prisoner unguarded…"

"Well, he's full of shit, then," Jenny said. "Also, what _happened _to the prisoner? When I got back, Big Brian _and _Malenna were gone."

Mercher coughed.

"Brian brought the prisoner here, on the Lord Regent's orders," he said. "Hrr. Sadly, there was treachery, and she escaped. Hr."

Jenny smirked.

"I guarded her for weeks, and nothing happened. One day under Big Brian, and she goes poof. Never send an Ogre to do a Sidhe's job, huh?"

"No one would have had to do your job if you hadn't, hr, abandoned your post!" Mercher snapped.

"Silence, Mercher…" Broch said.

"My Lord." Mercher gulped and went quiet.

"Gretta has not been seen since yesterday…" Broch mused. "She may have joined the insurrectionists…"

"What about Mercher?" Jenny said. "He's the one who sent Jameel Johnson to go with me."

"Mercher?" Broch said.

"I did no such thing," Mercher said immediately. "If the _Kinain_ claims otherwise, he lies. He's probably in league with the insurrectionists also."

"Possible…" Broch said. "Even so… Best take no chances…" He sighed. "Mennavere, dispatch him… Chimerical death…"

Jenny's heart sank, but she had no choice but to obey. She got to her feet.

"Fine." She drew her dagger and opened a shallow cut in the palm of her left hand. "Blood from my vein…"

"No!" Mercher looked around, but there was nowhere to run. If he jumped off the dais, there were nobles and retainers everywhere, any of which would be eager to seize him.

Jenny sheathed the dagger and drew her right hand over her eyes, which had teared slightly from the pain.

"… tears from my eye…" She rubbed her hands together, mixing blood and tears.

"My Lord, it's a lie! It's a lie!" Mercher howled. "I, hr, serve you loyally!"

"… a kiss from my lips…" Jenny kissed her palm, then held it out towards Mercher. "Traitor, burn as you deserve."

Fire enveloped Mercher. The courtiers, who hadn't heard the exact words of the conversation, gasped or shied back or even – in the case of one fine Sidhe lady – fainted as his horrifying screams of agony rang out through the throne hall.

Jenny's magical flames burned hot; it was over mercifully quickly. The fire went out, and Mercher lay slumped on the dais. He wasn't wrinkled anymore, his nose was smaller, and his servant's garb had changed into patched jeans and a garish red jacket. The fairytale servant was gone, replaced by a pudgy, unconscious teenage boy.

_He'll be back,_ Jenny reminded herself. _Chimerical death.__ It's happened to me four times._

But that didn't change what she had just done. She had inflicted a wound on the Dreaming; that it would eventually heal was beside the point. She would still pay the price, like she had so often before.

"Get him out of here…" Broch said. "And find me Brian… I wish to question him…"

"You could just have questioned Mercher," Jenny said.

"Brian is an Ogre…" Broch said. "Strong, resilient… He might… _survive_ my questioning… long enough to give me answers…"

Jenny realised that she wasn't feeling the slightest bit cheerful anymore.


	8. Chapter 8

In addition to having stupid, rippling muscles, Bob was annoying by having a pretty nice apartment in a neighbourhood that looked a lot better than where Jameel had grown up. He did, however, take some comfort in the fact that Bob was met at the door by an angry ex-wife.

"Where the hell have you been?" said the angry ex-wife. She was tall, trim and blonde, a bit older than Jameel and a bit younger than Bob. She was fairly good-looking, in a got-no-time-to-care-for-my-looks-so-what-you-see-is-what-you-get sort of way, and with the way she was glowering at Bob like an angered goddess she could even be described as 'striking.'

"Uhm," said Bob. "Am I late?"

"_Yes_!" yelled the angry ex-wife. "I told you I would come by and leave Marie with you for the weekend at nine! Now it's eleven! Don't you have any consideration for other people?"

Bob scratched his bald head.

"Uhm… sorry," he said timidly.

"And who's he?" the angry ex-wife said and turned her glare to Jameel, who really wished that that glare had remained directed at more deserving people. "I thought I knew all of your no-good friends!"

"Oh, I'm not his friend," Jameel said. "I'm just supposed to wait here for a friend of mine." He smiled sunnily. "His new girlfriend, namely."

This had the desired effect.

"Have you met some floozy?" the woman said. "Would you mind telling me what sort of people you're bringing into our daughter's life?"

"Uhm, Jessie, that's not really any business of yours anymore…" Bob said, but he sounded like he was trying to convince himself. Jessie was one of those people whose business seemed to encompass the entire known universe.

Jameel escaped from Jessie's wrath and Bob's vengeance alike by heading into the living room, where a little blonde girl was sitting, playing with some kind of plastic figurines.

"Hello," Jameel said. He sat down in front of her. "You'd be Marie, I take it? I'm Jameel. I figured I'd come and talk to you for a while. You seem to be the calmest person around."

The little girl nodded soberly.

"Sorry about my parents," she said seriously. "They get like this."

Jameel felt his underhanded little stab at Bob become a lot less funny in his memory.

"That's family for you," he said. "It could be worse, you know. You could have a slew of siblings, like me."

"It's kind of okay," Marie said. "They're both really nice to me when they're on their own. They just don't like being in the same place."

"Yeah, ugly break-ups are tough," Jameel said. "I wouldn't want to go anywhere near my ex-girlfriend, either. Mostly because she'd probably try to kill me."

"Why's that?" Marie said.

"Well, she's evil," Jameel said. "Like this guy here." He picked up a plastic figurine with an especially scary mask. "He's a bad guy, right?"

"Yeah, that's Marauder," Marie said. "He's mean and wants to rule the universe."

"Does he ever try to kid people that he's not a bad guy?" Jameel said. "Treat people really nicely and take care of them and give them stuff they like – and then, when they find out that he's mean and wants to rule the universe, he says that they owe him now and has to do what he says?"

"I guess he might do that," Marie allowed. "But the heroes would save anyone he did that to!"

Jameel smiled faintly. You probably shouldn't tell a six-year-old that in the real world, the heroes were a bit more discriminating with who they bothered to save.

"I suppose they would," he just said. "But anyway, that's what my girlfriend was like."

"I don't think she should have been your girlfriend, then," Marie said sagely.

"I have arrived at more or less the same conclusion."

"What did she give you?" Marie said. "That you liked? So that you'd think she was nice?"

"Well…" Jameel smiled. "Can you keep a secret?"

Marie nodded.

"She taught me to do things like _this_," he said and cupped the Marauder figurine in his hands and breathed on it. When he held his hands out again, the figurine had turned into a life-like plastic copy of Jameel, complete with his sorcerer's cloak.

"_Cool_!" Marie said. She snatched up the figurine and examined it. "How did you _do_ that?"

"Magic," Jameel said.

Marie gave him a suspicious look.

"Do you mean magic like on TV, like you had it up your sleeve or something?"

"No." Jameel grinned. "I mean magic. The real thing. I cast a spell."

Marie's tiny brow furrowed.

"How does it work?" she said.

"It just does." Jameel shrugged. "I believe it, and you believe it, so for us, magic is real. That's all you have to do to have magic in your life. Believe in it."

"Can you do anything with magic?" Marie said.

"Yes," Jameel said. "That's sort of the point. Anything can happen. Like…" He shrugged. "Someone could come from a really poor family and still go off and get an education and a great job and take care of his brothers and sisters. Sometimes there are happy endings. That's magic." He snapped his fingers, and the figurine turned back into Marauder. "Actually, that's more magical than my little tricks."

Marie put the figurine down and gave him an intent look.

"Can magic make people forget that they hate each other?" she said.

Jameel hesitated.

"Yes," he said. "For a while. But sooner or later, they remember again."

"Oh." Marie looked down.

"Magic is real," Jameel said gently. "But it doesn't always win."

"Then what good is it?" Marie said.

"Well… it doesn't always lose, either," Jameel said.

Marie smiled a little.

"You promise?"

"I'm kind of betting my life on it," Jameel said honestly.


	9. Chapter 9

Jenny was feeling wretched. Everywhere she looked, the colours seemed muted. Everyone she met on the street seemed to be scowling. Even though the sky was clear-blue, it looked _exactly_ like it was going to cloud up and start dropping frozen rain on her at any second – she wasn't sure how it managed to convey that impression, but it did. Even her own hair seemed to be against her; it felt tangled and rough whenever she pulled her hands through it.

She knew exactly what was going on, of course. She had killed Mercher, scorched the Glamour of his being and driven it into a dormancy from which it might or might not ever reappear. What was worse, she had done it through Art, used the weapons of the Dreaming to slay a child of the Dreaming. You didn't do that without paying the price.

_I've done it before,_ she told herself. _I'm a knight! I slay people my liege-lord doesn't like very much! It's in my job description!_

Yes. True. But for most of her life, she had been in a lot better condition than this. A dose of Banality that she would have shrugged off a year ago had become enough to make her stagger.

_I will _not _be Undone!_ she swore, and wondered if she would be. Hadn't she said, only yesterday, that she wasn't Mennavere anymore? And Jenny was no one – had been no one for years. So where did that leave her?

She rang the door bell. The door was opened by a formidable-looking woman who was glaring at her. This was not really what Jenny needed right now.

"Hi," Jenny said. "Is Bob in?"

"You'd be Jenny," the woman said. Jenny couldn't deny the statement, but something in the way she said it suggested that it was a very bad day to be Jenny… something that the changeling had, by all means, already concluded. "Can we talk for a moment?"

"I suppose," Jenny said warily. She was feeling cold. This woman was standing in the middle of a whirlwind of Banality.

The woman stepped outside and closed the door behind her.

"I'm Jessie," she said. "Bob's ex-wife."

"Oh," Jenny said. "He's got one of those?"

"He didn't tell you?" Jessie frowned.

"Well, we didn't really talk much."

That was clearly the wrong thing to say. The Banal chill grew stronger. Jenny started feeling a little light-headed.

"When did you first meet him… exactly?" Jessie said.

"Yesterday," Jenny mumbled.

"You slept with him directly after meeting him?"

"That's… really none of your…" A splitting headache made Jenny press her hands against her forehead. She backed away, but that was no good. Jessie followed her.

"If you're going to be in my daughter's life, it _is_ my business," she said. "You do see that, don't you?"

Jenny couldn't really see anything, because stars were exploding in front of her eyes.

"Did you use protection?" Jessie said. "I know that he can't be counted upon to be careful, so I'm hoping you were."

To this Jenny could have replied that it was quite unfair of Jessie to accuse other people of something that she herself must have been guilty of on at least one occasion, but her ability for smartass remarks had evaporated.

"Y-yes," she said. "Yes, of course I did. Please stop it, you're hurting me."

"I'm just talking to you," Jessie said, sounding perplexed.

"You're _hurting_ me!" Jenny wailed. Her legs felt like they were about to buckle. She felt irresponsible and childish and very much like someone who wasn't in touch with the realities of the world the way that Jessie was.

Cornered by an Autumn Person and brought down in a stairway! This couldn't be happening to Lady Mennavere the Mauler! It _wouldn't_ be happening, if she hadn't gotten so damn vulnerable, if killing Mercher hadn't opened all sorts of cracks that Jessie could – without meaning any harm, without being aware of what she was doing – pour her Banality into.

"What's your problem?" To Jenny's horror, she felt a weight on her shoulder and icy cold spread through her armour. Jessie was touching her. "Are you having some kind of seizure?"

"No… please…" Jenny dropped to the floor, her legs no longer capable of carrying her.

"Are you on _drugs_?" Jessie said accusingly, and oh sweet Dreaming, that was _it_, the last straw, Jenny could feel the Glamour leaking out of her, in a moment everything about changelings and knights and magic would start to feel like a silly dream, and a moment after that it would just be gone…

She heard the door open.

"Help!" Jameel's laughing voice said. "Save me from this little monster!"

"Hi, Mom!" a little girl's voice said. "Jameel is being my horsie!"

Jenny's eyes slowly cleared. Jameel was standing outside the doorway, a little blonde girl riding on his shoulders. She had a fistful of his long, black hair in each hand.

Jenny took a shuddering breath. Jameel believed in faeries, which helped, but he wasn't a Dreamer. The girl, though, was one – or had the potential to become one. She was practically shining with excess Glamour, and Jenny lapped it up with pathetic gratitude.

Jessie smiled and seemed to relax a bit, which didn't hurt. She was tired and afraid and life was rough on her, but she liked seeing her daughter have fun – and like many mothers, she seemed to have a place in her heart for anyone who was nice to her kid.

"I hope Marie's not being too much of a brat to you?" she said.

"Nah," Jameel said. "You should see my little brothers. They would have tried to scalp me by now."

"His hair is really nice and soft!" Marie said.

"I use a lot of conditioner," Jameel said modestly.

Jenny felt some academic curiosity as to what it would feel like to run her hands through Jameel's mane, which probably meant that she was recovering. She got to her feet, somewhat unsteadily and with some remaining sensation of vertigo.

"Is that Dad's new girlfriend?" Marie said.

Jessie sighed.

"Apparently so."

"She's _pretty_!" Marie said. "Her ears are funny, though."

Jenny touched one of her pointy ears. Low enough Banality to see a faerie mien? Impressive, even at that age.

"Thank you," she said.

"I think we have to get going now, though," Jameel said smoothly. "We have to find a rebel leader and bring him to justice."

"I thought you wanted to see Bob?" Jessie said.

"No can do. Bringing rebel leaders to justice waits for no man," said Jameel, who had presumably seen changelings collapse from Banality overload before and knew that you had to get them away from the source as quickly as you could. Jenny felt pathetically grateful.

"Actually, there's been a change of plans," she said. "We're looking for an ogre now."

"Oh, okay." Jameel shrugged. "That's fine. Ogres are easier to find, anyway."

Marie giggled. Jessie winced, but her smile was indulgent. She thought they were playing along to amuse the girl.

Jameel knelt down.

"Off you go, rugrat," he said. "I can't be your horsie anymore. Ogres don't catch themselves."

"Okay," Marie said and climbed off of his back. "Are you coming back some other time and showing me more magic tricks, though?"

Jameel smiled.

"I'll do my best."

"Magic tricks?" Jessie said. "You found some coins in her ear, did you?"

"Oh, I have a few things up my sleeve…" Jameel said.

"Come on, let's go," Jenny said. The atmosphere here had gotten a little less Banal, but she'd still rather get out in the fresh air again.

"Bye, Marie," Jameel said. He bowed his head to Jessie, who nodded curtly. "Ma'am."

He discreetly took Jenny's arm, and she tried to make it look like she wasn't putting as much weight on him as she was as they went down the stairs.

"Was it very bad?" Jameel said quietly as they got out onto the street again. "I heard the two of you talking, and then you sounded like you were in pain. I figured you needed help."

"I did," Jenny said. "Thank you. And thank the Dreaming the kid doesn't take after her mother."

Jameel gave her a thoughtful look while they walked down the street, Jenny gradually taking more and more responsibility for keeping herself upright as her strength returned.

"What?" she said.

"Nothing, it's just…" He laughed nervously. "We spend so much time envying you. You real changelings, I mean. You can pluck Glamour out of thin air, you got Birthrights, you live forever… I guess we don't usually think about how an ordinary conversation can kill you."

"Yeah, well, you don't have to think about it," Jenny said, a bit sourly. "It's not the kind of thing that _we _can afford to forget, though."

"What…" Jameel hesitated. "What does it feel like?"

Jenny glared at him. But he _had_ probably saved her life – or at least her changeling status.

"Imagine being in the most pitiful situation possible," she said. "In jail in some banana republic, or dying in the middle of the wilderness, or having some kind of humiliating, crippling illness that was killing you piece by piece. Then imagine falling asleep and dreaming that you were having… a pretty decent life. Not perfect, but a life with some dignity and meaning. Can you imagine that?"

"I think so," Jameel said. "And Banality feels like you'd feel waking up from that dream?"

"No." Jenny scowled. "Once you've woken up, the dream will fade away. You'll go back to dealing with your misery. But just before you wake up, there's this moment when you're still in the dream, but you've realised that it's a dream. And you try to hold on to it, but the harder you cling, the faster it slips through your fingers and you know that in another few seconds, it will be gone and you'll be back in your pathetic, hopeless life." She shrugged. "Banality feels like _that_."

"That's…" Jameel licked his lips. "That's really horrible."

"We're not really very fond of it, no…"

They walked in silence for a little while.

"So, it looked like the midget and you were bonding," Jenny finally said, as an offer to leave the unpleasant topic behind.

"Yeah, Marie was sweet," Jameel said. "And surprisingly well-behaved, given her parents. I think their genes sort of cancelled each other out and produced something vaguely normal."

"You're _good_ with kids, aren't you?" Jenny said with mild awe. Childlings were one thing; they weren't so much children as ancient creatures in child-shaped packages. Normal kids, on the other hand, bewildered her.

"Well, I guess I'm used to them," Jameel said. "I've got four younger siblings. You learn how to handle them."

Jenny grinned and winced.

"You're aiming for a pack of your own one day, aren't you?"

"Not really," Jameel said. "I think my brothers and sisters cured me of that for life. I'm kind of looking forward to being an uncle, though. Uncles get the fun parts without the diapers and the midnight feedings. I'll probably get stuck with putting nieces and nephews through college, though. That's kind of the plan."

Something at the corner of Jenny's eye caught her attention, but when she looked, it was just a guy walking a dog. By all means, telling the difference between a chimera and a real thing was tough, but surely any self-respecting chimera would manifest as something more interesting…

"What plan?" she said.

"Well, I'm supposed to become a hot-shot businessman and a sorcerer to boot," Jameel said. "You know. Make something of myself. My parents made a lot of sacrifices so I'd have the chance, so that I could help the next generation make something of themselves, so that in the fullness of time the Johnson family won't be a bunch of blue-blooded paupers anymore."

Jenny turned to look at him, surprised.

"So your life is basically part of a long-running strategy?" she said. "That's kind of harsh."

Jameel snorted and grinned.

"That's kind of funny, coming from a sworn sword."

"That's different," Jenny said in the defensive tone people use when they don't want to admit that it's really not that different. "I chose which liege lord to swear fealty to. I didn't get born to some kind of destiny."

"Yeah, so you chose Drackus as your liege lord," Jameel said.

"Yep."

"And then he became Undone and left you with Broch for a liege lord," Jameel said.

Jenny gave him a very nasty look. He grinned back.

"Just saying," he said. "I think we're both kind of stuck with what we've got. At least the people who decide _my_ destiny like me."

Jenny snorted and looked away. And saw a girl on a bike that she could swear had, for a moment, been a girl on a goat. With reins and a saddle.

"Besides, you must have family too," Jameel said. He sounded a bit nervous, like he was afraid he'd gotten her mad.

"I ran away from home when I was fourteen," Jenny said distantly. Was this some side-effect to almost being Undone, or was there something going on here?

When she turned back around to see why Jameel suddenly had gone quiet, she saw that he was looking shocked.

"What?"

"Just… just like that?" he said. "You just left?"

Jenny shrugged against the armour, though of course that didn't show.

"I was going through my squireship," she said. "And I couldn't exactly tell my parents. So there were arguments and curfews, and broken curfews and even _more_ arguments, and in the end I just figured there was no way I was going to be able to pull off living two lives at once."

Jameel seemed unable to think of something to say to that.

"Do you mind not looking at me like that?" Jenny said. She wasn't sure what she was seeing on Jameel's face – there was disbelief, shock, and worst of all, a touch of pity. She felt herself blush faintly. She couldn't this right now. She was too uncertain, too weak in her Glamour.

_Left your human life to be a knight,_ a voice whispered in her mind. _Now you're not much of a knight either. What's left of you?_

"I'm sorry," Jameel said. "It's just… haven't you ever gone back? You know, just to let them know you're alive?"

"Not really," Jenny said.

She'd thought about it. In fact, she'd thought about it while standing right outside the gates to the house, willing herself to go in. She'd definitely thought about it, long and hard, standing outside of the cemetery while her father's funeral was going on inside. But every single time, she had ended up turning around and walking away.

"Sorry, it's none of my business," Jameel said.

Jenny forced a smile.

"Hey, I'm not the secretive type," she said. "I'm just saying, life turns out the way it does. Not much you can do about it."

"I guess…" Jameel said.

And then a dozen different people who had been positioning themselves in a moving circle around the two of them all dropped their disguises all at once. Adults and children, male and female, suddenly turned into wild-eyed fauns, holding a variety of chimerical weapon.

"Damn it, Jameel," Jenny said matter-of-factly. "I'd almost figured out they were there when you distracted me with that touchy-feely crap!"

"Sorry," Jameel said humbly.

"Oh come on," Torus said. He stepped forward, as small and cocky as Jenny remembered him. "You couldn't have done anything if you _had_ noticed us. You don't even have a sword!"

"I could have run away!" Jenny said. She had to admit that that line was unlikely to be voted Most Heroic Utterance 2007.

"Uhm... they're Satyrs," Jameel mumbled. "Supernaturally quick legs and all that…"

Jenny fumed. Stupid Satyrs. Stupid missing sword. Stupid Banality-induced weakness. Stupid world.

"What do you want, Torus?" she said. "You had us right where you wanted us yesterday, and then you just left. What's with the ambush tactics today?"

"Weeeeell." Torus grinned obnoxiously. "Things are moving a bit faster than we thought they would. Josey figures you'd want to meet the rightful Duchess of Howling Winds."

Something clicked into place for Jenny.

"You've got to be kidding," she said. "Not _her_…"

"What? Huh?" Jameel said. Jenny wished she could have been as uncomprehending.

Torus and his Wildlings prodded them onwards. Jenny, having little enough choice, went along with them, but she didn't have high hopes for how this would turn out.

After all, the rightful Duchess of Howling Winds was likely to take issue to the knight who had kept her prisoner for months.


	10. Chapter 10

Jameel was a city boy at heart, really. It wasn't that they were usually havens of civilisation and human brotherhood – he'd never met anyone as flat-out bad as Jax, but there were plenty of guys who were basically, well, _Jax Lite_ out there, and most of them didn't even have the excuse of being dark fae – but at least there was some kind of order to them. You could be assured of having a flat surface to walk on, most of the time. There were streetlights, unless someone had gotten bored and broken them recently.

Changelings – the more outdoorsy Kiths, like Satyrs, in particular – tended to prefer forests to cities. They thought they were more Glamorous. This was yet another thing that made Jameel classify changelings as Weird.

Right now he was being driven through deep snow in the middle of Wishafield Woods, and some horrible little faun kept poking him with a child-sized trident. This was not a situation likely to make him a cheerful Jameel.

"Where are we going, anyway?" he said after the sixth time he stumbled and had to be dragged to his feet by the damn tireless fauns. Jenny was rather better off. In fact, she and the fauns occasionally traded cheerful insults. Jameel felt that she was not really getting into the spirit of this miserable occasion.

"The Glade!" Torus said. "The Glade of Dancing Leaves!"

Jameel nodded. He supposed that made sense, though Josey must be more serious than he thought if he were bringing them right into his stronghold. It was sort of flattering to warrant so much consideration, though Jameel felt that he would have much preferred indifference. Indifference meant a decent chance of making a speedy escape while your captors weren't paying attention to you.

The Glade of Dancing Leaves had been a peaceful place, once. It had been a Motley Freehold, outside of the feudal hierarchy, but closely allied with Duke Drackus' Freehold of the Singing Sapphire. It had been a place where the Satyrs came to dance, and where everyone else came to seek their wisdom. Once they had tired themselves out, at least.

Those days were gone, though. These days, the Glade of Dancing Leaves was spoken of in hushed tones. It was the stronghold of rebels and outlaws, and Old Josey had cast such powerful cantrips over it that no one could find it anymore without being invited.

The trees parted, and the Wildlings brought their prisoners into a large, snow-clad meadow. Jameel was sure it was still early afternoon, but overhead there was nevertheless a black, star-sprinkled sky with a bright full moon. Beneath it, tents had been raised and wagons brought up. In one end of the Glade, a few dozen people were dancing to the music of Satyr guitars, and in the other end some fine-clad fellows were huddled together, engaged in what seemed to be a spirited conversation. As the Wildlings appeared, the fancier crowd turned around. Jameel was shocked to see a couple of perfect, regal Sidhe faces among them.

"We got them!" Torus said, bouncing from goat leg to goat leg with excitement. "It was really easy, too! I think they're both slipping!"

"Torus," Jenny said amiably. "When I get the chance, I'm going to tangle up your tail something fierce. Just so you know."

"Well, well," a deep, carrying voice said. A Satyr man stepped out from the crowd. His hair was the same colour as the moonlight, and his face had deep laugh-lines in it, but he was light on his hoofs and his brilliant blue eyes gleamed with intelligence and mischief. "Lady Mennavere. How nice of you to join us."

Jenny bowed formally, a wry grin on her lips.

"Josey," she said. "As a duly appointed knight of the realm, it's my duty to inform you that you're under arrest. Will you come quietly, or do I have to get rough?"

Josey laughed.

"I think I'll stay where I am," he said, "if it's all the same to you."

"Ah." Jenny nodded sagely. "I'll just add 'resisting arrest' to your charges, then."

"And young Mr Johnson," Josey said, smiling at Jameel. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Er… from who?" said Jameel, who knew that there were a number of different people who probably said a number of very different things about him.

"Oh, I listen to all sorts of people," Josey said loftily. "A lot of people are impressed by you, you know. Not many _Kinain_ manage to become sorcerers."

"I'm… not _actually_ a sorcerer," Jameel said. "Not yet."

He couldn't help wondering who was so impressed by him. No one ever _seemed_ especially impressed – even Mercher had treated him like something he'd scraped off his boot, even though it was a rather worn boot where the sole was about to come loose.

"But you're close," Josey said. "Very close. And you have picked up some rather unusual tricks."

Jameel felt his face grow hot. Unusual tricks? Well, if that was what you wanted to call the Dark Arts…

Josey smiled like a kindly old uncle.

"Which Art are you trying to master?" he said.

Jameel hesitated.

"Primal," he said.

"Raw natural power?" Josey tilted his head. "I would have expected something a bit more refined from you. Why not Chicanery?"

"Oh, I like Chicanery too," Jameel said. "But it's only as good as the people you're influencing with it, isn't it? Like, you could make someone want to help you, but it'd still depend on whether they _can_ help you, you know? With Primal, it's all down to you. Healing and hurting, protecting and conjuring and transforming – you kind of get all the basics, everything you might need to do in a hurry…"

He felt a sharp, armour-clad elbow nudging him in the ribs. He looked around and saw Jenny making a face at him.

"Jameel?" she said sweetly. "Could you _not_ do the geek bonding thing with our sworn enemy?"

"Sorry," Jameel said. He had forgotten himself – Josey had a way of talking to you that made you feel comfortable and eager to chat. It started to dawn on him just why this man was Broch's arch-nemesis and foremost pain in the neck.

Josey stepped aside, grinning broadly. A small Sidhe girl stepped out of the crowd, regal and dignified in every inch. She had long, blonde curls and was wearing a pink dress that looked like something a fairytale princess would wear. Jenny groaned.

"Hello, Mary-Kate," she said in a suffering tone. "Fancy running into you here."

"It's Malenna, my Lady," the little girl said, sternly rebuking. "Malenna ap Fiona, Duchess of Howling Winds."

Jameel looked from one of them to the other.

"You two know each other?" he said.

"I enjoyed Lady Mennavere's hospitality in the Solitary Tower for some months," Malenna said.

"Oh, stop being so damn correct and polite," Jenny said. "You were my prisoner, on the Lord Regent's orders."

Jameel gave Jenny a wide-eyed look.

"You kept the _Duchess prisoner_?"

"I didn't know she was the Duchess!" Jenny said. She frowned at Malenna. "In fact, I still don't know if I can believe it. Where's the proof? Drackus never proclaimed you as his heir. I would have found out."

"He didn't know she was the daughter of his faerie aspect," Josey said smoothly. "We knew his heir had been reborn, but we hadn't had time to determine who it was yet. Faerie paternity tests are a bit complicated, you see."

"Uh-huh," Jenny said. "Okay, there's an excellent way to settle it, isn't there? Drackus is Undone. His heir, whoever that is, is now the rightful Duchess of Howling Winds. So where's the ducal blade, which only the rightful master of the duchy can lift? Where's Storm's Voice?"

Josey coughed.

"We haven't quite been able to locate it yet," he said. "We will, though. Meanwhile, there are more important matters to decide." He smiled at Jameel and Jenny in turn. "I have had my eye on you two for some time. Yesterday, I put you to a test. You both passed with flying colours."

"A test?" Jameel said.

"I got some friends of mine to convince you that you were to find me," Josey said. "And then I planted a trail that would lead you into Icespire."

"Gretta," Jenny said, grimacing. "Mercher."

"Well, technically Gretta is a friend of mine and a sweet little girl," Josey said. "Mercher is just greedy and easy to bribe."

"He's dead," Jenny said flatly. "Broch had me kill him for what you put him up to."

Josey shrugged.

"No great loss there."

Jenny scowled. The look of fury on her face made Jameel flinch back.

"And Big Brian?" she said. "Another friend of yours, isn't he? He's a damn _Thallain_, Josey!"

Josey smiled, looking boyish despite his wrinkles.

"His lot are a little hard to stomach, yeah," he said. "But they're useful, and we need all the help we can get. Which brings me to the point."

"We want you to come and work for us," Malenna said. "For me."

Jameel felt his jaw drop.

"Broch was Drackus' court Soothsayer," Josey said. "Our new Duchess will need someone else for the post. And obviously, she will need a Commander of the Guard – Sir Thorgrim is, I regret to say, rather too old and hidebound for the post. You found the trail to Icespire, and you handled yourself very well while you were there…"

"We found a _false_ trail," Jenny said. "And we got _captured_ in Icespire."

"Oh, you were never supposed to do anything else," Josey said. "The test was how much of a fight you put up. You will do nicely. You're wasted on Broch's side, and I'd hate to have to kill you when we overthrow him. Come over to the side of the good guys instead. Come on, what do you say?"

"Fuck you," Jenny said flatly.

Josey sighed.

"Oh, Jenny. I expected you to be far more reasonable. I know that you loathe your current position…"

"Yeah, I do, as it happens," Jenny said. "But I can't recall my oath of fealty saying anything about me enjoying myself. Besides, your offer sucks." She started counting on her fingers. "One, you don't have a confirmed Duchess, just a girl who might or might not be the rightful heir. You don't have Storm's Voice, so you can't prove who she is one way or the other. That makes Broch the legal Lord Regent. Two, you hang out with fucking _Thallain_. You think you can control them? So does Broch, and seeing as Big Brian is working for you in secret, apparently he's mistaken. Three, you've had your flunkies mess with my head and drag me hither and dither like you thought I was some kind of toy. Broch is an asshole, _and_ a monster, _and_ a painfully obvious usurper to the throne, but at least _he_ has always played me straight. Frankly, I think I like him better than you. So I reiterate, Josey-boy – _fuck you_."

Josey scowled. Malenna folded her arms and looked unamused.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Josey said tightly. "Your Grace, what should we do with her?"

Malenna considered.

"Look her up somewhere," she said. "Once I've taken my throne, I'll pass sentence on her."

Josey bowed.

"A wise decision, your Grace," he said. "Wildlings, take her to the Pools."

Torus and his friends rushed forward and surrounded Jenny.

"How about you, Jameel?" Josey said as they began to drag her off with much scuffling and pushing. "What's your answer?"

Jameel licked his lips.

"If I join," he said, "you'll protect me, right? From… any enemies I might make?"

"Of course," Josey said. "That is part of the oath of fealty."

"Then… then I accept!" Jameel said.

"_What_?" Jenny yelled from an increasing distance. "Jameel, you damn traitor!"

Jameel gave her an unhappy glance, feeling that she was being very unfair. What was he supposed to do? _She _could afford to throw her life away – she knew she'd get another, and another, for as long as there were new humans being born that she could reincarnate into. _He_ just had this one life. He had to make it work.

Josey gave him a blessing smile.

"Very sensible of you," he said. "You won't regret it. Whatever problems you might have with this Jax fellow, we'll deal with that. And you will have a steady access to Glamour – no more slaving for Broch and his minions. We know how to take care of our followers."

Jameel smiled weakly. This was _wrong_. The good guys didn't promise you wealth and power for helping them. The good guys tried to appeal to your better nature. It was the _bad_ guys who tried to bribe you.

_And I've proven that I'm easy to bribe. This is a much better offer than I got last time – then I handed myself over to the Shadow Court for a few nuggets of Art and a chance to get laid once in a while._

But he was still in a strange Glade, surrounded by changelings. So he knelt before Malenna and began reciting the Oath of Allegiance.


	11. Chapter 11

Jenny told herself that she had been locked up in worse places than this. Had she not escaped the foul Dungeon of the Dreadling? Had she not survived the shark-filled death-trap of Baron Brainiac? She could surely escape Josey's stupid Pools. It wasn't even as if they had been _meant_ to serve as prison cells to start with!

  Unfortunately, she couldn't quite shake the fear that that was exactly the point. She'd been a hero, once. She'd been able to do anything. But she'd squandered her Glamour, let it slip away, let Banality seep in and corrupt every fibre of her once-magical being. This might be the inevitable conclusion to her decline – she might find herself trapped in this pitiful prison, fading little by little as the days and weeks and months of her imprisonment went by, until what was finally paraded out before Malenna's new court in the Freehold of the Singing Sapphire was just a shadow, a dying ember, a sad remnant of a Sidhe that was would soon disappear completely – the beautiful, valiant knight gone and forgotten, leaving behind only someone who had never even been Mennavere the hero but only ever been Jenny the useless runaway…

  "No!" She slammed her palm into the moist stone wall. Her voice echoed through the cavern. The sound of it only encouraged her a little.

  The Pools were a pleasant place, warm and steamy and smelling of sweet flowers. It was dark, but there were fungi growing on the floor and walls that spread a faint, romantic light. Jenny remembered happier times when she had dragged some pretty man down here for privacy during one of Josey's parties. It was the perfect romantic hideaway. You could only get here by diving into a spring at the edge of the Glade, but the swim was short and the water was pleasant.

  Or it had been, before Josey had filled it with every chimerical monster he could find. Jenny had seen them while the Wildlings had swum down here with her. There were claws and teeth enough out there to turn her into Jenny-kebab. And she had no weapons except for her fire-magic – which, damn it all to hell, wouldn't work at all under water.

  They'd let her pass when she was in the company of the Wildlings, though – the monsters could tell the difference between friends and foes. That meant that all she had to do to escape was to make sure one of Josey's people were with her. That meant seducing, overpowering or putting a Dictum on one when they turned up to feed her – which she damn well hoped they planned to.

  _Let's start with the Dictum. I've still got enough Glamour left to give it some oomph._

  Having decided that, though, there was nothing left to do but sit down and wait. She passed the time by devising a thousand and one horrible things that she was going to do to Josey once she got her hands on him. After a while, she decided to include Jameel, too. If he hadn't been so spineless, she would at the very least have had some company down here.

  Finally, there was a splash and a soaked figure emerged from the water at the other end of the cave. Jenny got to her feet.

  "By the blood of the Sidhe," she said, "by the blood of Fiona, by the blood of the ages, I bind you, oh commoner. **Help me escape from here**."

  "Sidhe blood runs too thin, Fiona blood runs too hot, and the ages are coming to an end," a voice said, almost apologetically. "**No**."

  Jenny blinked.

  "Jameel?" she said.

  "Hi," Jameel said. He stepped closer, his wet cloak trailing on the floor. "Are you all right?"

  "Yes, no thanks to you." Jenny frowned. "So you really can shake a Dictum, huh? That's really weird."

  "I, uh…" Jameel said, seeming a bit off balance. "I guess."

  "So I guess that's why they sent you to check on me?" Jenny said. "Because I can't order you around?"

  "Uh… no…" Jameel said.

  Jenny gave him a puzzled look. He was standing there as if paralysed, with a very foolish look on his face. For a moment she had no idea why; then she thought to picture just what he was seeing. The Wildlings had taken her armour. She was wearing nothing but the linen padding that she'd worn beneath it, and her dip in the water had made it cling to every single curve of her body.

  Jenny suppressed a smirk. _Ah_. Maybe she should try plan B already. Heck, if it worked for the Shadow Court, it should work for her.

  "Yeah," she said, putting as much of a purr into her voice as she could. "Remember that illusion you made, back at Icespire? _Told_ you the measurements were insulting."

  "Errrrkk…" Jameel said. To his credit, he wasn't actually looking at her chest. But he was looking into her eyes but the desperate determination of someone who had to spend considerable effort to avoid looking at her chest.

  "So why did they send you here?" Jenny said. "Am I… wanted?"

  "I'm here to help you escape!" Jameel said.

  Jenny blinked.

  _Okay, that was… weirdly easy. Even considering how little action he probably gets._

  "You are?" she said.

  Jameel sighed.

  "You really thought I'd just leave you here, didn't you?" he said.

  "Well…" Jenny said. "The whole bowing-before-the-person-who-put-me-here-in-the-first-place sort of seemed to hint that you were, yeah."

  "Oh, what was I supposed to do?" Jameel turned around and started pacing back and forth through the cave, his wet cloak making sloshing sounds every time he turned. "If I'd argued, they'd just have thrown me here along with you! Then we'd have been stuck here for months." He waved his hands in the air. "And _I have midterms coming up, damn it_!"

  Jenny laughed.

  "Right now, they trust me," Jameel said. "Which means I could slip away. And I got past the critters they've got guarding the Pools, because they can sense that I'm sworn to Malenna. I can get you out of here, and all I had to do was _not_ make some kind of heroic stand back there!"

  "You really did swear an oath, though," Jenny said gently. "Breaking it will hurt."

  Jameel shrugged uncomfortably.

  "I'm not sure I _will_ be breaking it. I'll be protecting my liege-lady's honour by preventing her from doing something dishonourable. And if the Dreaming doesn't agree with that creative interpretation, well… okay, it'll hurt. It won't kill me."

  Jenny smiled.

  "You're tougher than you look," she said.

  Jameel practically squirmed at that. Jenny had to admit that it was sort of cute. Of course, she might be biased by the fact that he had agreed to help her escape from this ignoble position.

  "Well, I'm not about to leave you here, am I?" he said. "We're partners, aren't we?"

  "We're sort of sworn to two people who're mortal enemies and wants to destroy each other utterly," Jenny pointed out.

  "Yeah, I guess," Jameel said. "But that doesn't mean that _we_ can't be partners."

  "Doesn't it?" Jenny said dubiously.

  "Look, do you like Broch?" Jameel said.

  Jenny grimaced.

  "Hell no."

  "And I don't like Josey," Jameel said. "There's too much going on that makes no sense. Where's Storm's Voice? Why's Jax in town? And come to think of it, who the hell picks a twenty-two-year-old _Kinain_ semi-sorcerer as court Soothsayer? Broch might be the very model of the evil usurping dictator, but I don't think that makes Malenna the virtuous rebel heir to the throne."

  "So you're saying that we're on the same side," Jenny said. "The side of _my boss sucks_."

  "Something like that," Jameel said.

  Jenny nodded.

  "Okay," she said. "You make some sense. I'm going to have to think about it. But is it okay if I think about it once I'm back in the Solitary Tower?"

  Jameel chuckled weakly.

  "Yeah, I'm not really in favour of hanging around," he said. "Come on. Stay close to me while we swim, and I think we'll get to the surface in one piece."

  Jenny nodded, a bit impatiently. Daring escapes were part of her profession, so she really didn't feel a mere amateur had any business giving her instructions – but seeing as he was helping her, she should probably be gracious about it.

  They dived into the water together. Jenny swam with easy strokes through the short tunnel that separated the cavern from the pool, while Jameel floundered along, practically clawing his way through the water. Jenny made sure that he was behind her for every step of the way, watching for signs that he was lagging behind and that she might have to pull him along – but soon enough, the rock ceiling disappeared and they swam upwards, through an uncertain expanse of water where huge, dark shadows lurked in the distance. None of the menacing shapes approached, though – they saw one of Malenna's oath-sworn subjects escorting a prisoner, and kept their distance.

  The air was shockingly cold against Jenny's face after the hot water, and when she reached the edge of the pond and stepped up into the snow it felt like she started freezing to ice almost immediately. She bit her teeth tightly shut to keep them from shattering. Damn it. This could be a nuisance if it went on too long – Lady Mennavere the Mauler no more wanted to die of pneumonia than she wanted to fade away in prison.

  Jameel splashed out of the pond behind her, looking more wet and bedraggled than ever. He gave her a weak smile, though, and trudged off through the snow. Jenny followed him, shivering. The irony of it was, she knew a cantrip of shrouding herself in fire – but part of the cantrip was that the fire would only affect everything but her, meaning that she could very well freeze to death in the middle of a blazing furnace.

  "So what happened after I got dragged off?" she said to take her mind off of the chill.

  "Well, there was this big ceremony thing…" Jameel said, ploughing on ahead. "Old Josey proclaimed Malenna the rightwise born Duchess of Howling Winds and all that. All the people in the Glade swore fealty to her and promised to aid her in her attempts to overthrow the usurper."

  "Pretty standard fare, then," Jenny said. "So how would you say she's doing, insofar as muscle goes?"

  "Not great," Jameel said. "A couple of hedgeknights and some commoners with Incidental swords. But everyone hates Broch, don't they? As soon as people catch on that Josey has the rightful heir to the throne with him, people are going to start deserting."

  "What he _claims_ is the rightful heir to the throne…" Jenny mumbled.

  "Maybe he figures that's enough," Jameel said. "Overthrow Broch today, find the proper heir tomorrow, that sort of thing."

  "Sounds like Josey," Jenny said. "You know, he keeps claiming that he's Seelie and therefore too honourable to tell a lie, but I think he's just Unseelie and lying about it." She considered. "Think he's hidden Storm's Voice somewhere, to make sure no one can put Malenna to the one test no one can fake?"

  "Dunno…" Jameel said distractedly, looking around with increasing concern. "Broch would have his own reasons for hiding it, wouldn't he? He wants to be able to say that any claimant that turns up isn't the real deal, so he can keep being Lord Regent."

  "Yeah." Jenny bit her lip. "Of course, it shouldn't be _possible_ to hide Storm's Voice. Only the rightful Duke can lift it, so why isn't it in the exact place where Drackus last put it down?"

  "Well, there's really only one possibility then, isn't there?" Jameel said absently.

  "What's that?" Jenny said.

  "Well, if only the real Duke or Duchess can lift it?" Jameel said. "Then if it's gone, it's because the real Duke or Duchess found it and took it. Whoever he or she might be."

  That thought took Jenny aback for a few moments, but then the burning cold restored her to the situation at hand. And to the fact that Jameel was looking increasingly bewildered.

  "Do you actually know where you're going?" she said.

  "Uh…" Jameel said. "Sort of. If we go far enough in one direction, we'll get out of the woods eventually, right?"

  Jenny stopped in her tracks.

  "So you _don't_ know where we're going?" she said.

  Jameel sighed.

  "I thought I did," he said. "There was a really clear path here that I followed to the Pools. Except now it's gone."

  "Well, this _is_ a Freehold," Jenny said, hugging herself. "These things happen. How long have you known that you were lost?"

  "Couple of minutes…" Jameel mumbled.

  Jenny took a deep breath.

  "I swear," she said. "You're just _inviting_ some kind of counter-sexist crack about men and asking for direction." She kissed the palm of her hand and then blew on it. The kiss turned into a spark that floated into the air, hovering in front of her. "Lead us to the Solitary Tower," Jenny said.

  The will o' the wisp flew off – in almost completely the opposite direction from the one Jameel had been walking in. The two of them looked at each other for a moment, then hastily ran after the wisp.

  "You suck at rescuing people," Jenny said matter-of-factly as they ran.

  "Well, excuse _me_ if I don't have your years of experience!" Jameel said miserably.


	12. Chapter 12

_Author's note: Ahem. Well. I guess I just raised this story's maturity rating somewhat…_

"Home, sweet shower," Jenny said happily as she stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a big, fluffy towel. Her naked feet made little splish-splash sounds against the concrete floor.

Jameel was sitting by the fireplace, stripped down to his underwear and wrapped in three different blankets, trying to warm himself up without the aid of the hot shower that Jenny had so cruelly monopolised for the last half hour. He had gotten to the point where he would be willing to concede that, all things considered, the marrow of his bones most probably had _not_ frozen solid, but beyond that he made no commitments.

"I completely agree," he said. "Can I have it now?"

"Yes," Jenny said, plopping down next to him in front of the fire. "But you won't like it. The only reason why I came out was because I'd used up all the hot water."

Jameel, who had been about to get up, slumped down again.

"You have no heart," he declared tragically. "You are an evil fiend bent on my destruction."

"I'm sure you'll muddle through somehow," Jenny said.

Jameel gave her a dark look, but after a moment it turned to amusement and he gave off a snort of laughter.

"What?" Jenny said.

"Oh, it's nothing, really." Jameel smiled wryly. "It's just so weird to see the human you."

"Oh." Jenny grimaced. "You ran out of Glamour, huh?"

"I was running on fumes already," Jameel said. "The last of it faded on the bus here."

He looked around the dark, bare room. Without the Glamour, the Freehold of the Solitary Tower was just a two-story house which might at some point – some quite distant point, during a time when open fires had been the cutting edge of heating – have been the proudly owned home of a person of limited means but which hadn't been used for much in the way of ordinary habitation lately. Jenny's furniture and clothing – and the latter was laying all over the former, hinting at a pathological inability to be tidy – was an odd assortment of old and new, cheap and expensive, broken and whole. There were wires and tubes running around the walls, providing electricity and water, and it couldn't be clearer that they were a recent instalment of people who had made no effort to blend it with the house's original design.

Strangely enough, it was actually sort of cosy. Whatever else Jenny's home was, it definitely had _personality_ – every single thing in it looked like it had a long and interesting history. But it wasn't the kind of place where you expected a Sidhe to live.

For that matter, Jenny didn't look like a Sidhe anymore. She was a girl in her late teens with shoulder-length brown-blonde hair, broad shoulders, muscular built, perfect poise and – Jameel guiltily forced his eyes away from the edge of the towel – a magnificent pair of breasts. Definitely pretty, certainly worth a second look, but not a radiant being of unearthly beauty.

She hadn't changed, of course – it was just that he couldn't see her as she really was anymore. For the first time, he wondered if the famous Sidhe self-confidence came from that fact. No matter what they looked like, every Sidhe knew that they were, in a _fundamental_ sense, amazingly attractive – so what did it matter if they might, in a dull, ordinary, mundane sense be average-looking and have zits? Anyone who didn't see their glorious beauty was someone whose eyes weren't working properly, and why should they care about what such a person thought he saw?

There was possibly some sort of lesson in that, but Jameel was too tired and cold to be able to concentrate on learning it.

"Well, I'm sure Josey will re-enchant you as soon as you ask him," Jenny said neutrally.

"I guess," Jameel said. The idea of going back to the Glade of Dancing Leafs and asking for his first payment as court Soothsayer didn't appeal to him. He was _almost_ sure that no one had seen him free Jenny, but _almost_ didn't feel like a sufficient defence against Old Josey's spears and spells. "Unless they've figured out that maybe I'm not as much of a rat as they thought I was."

"Have you felt the oath snap back at you?" Jenny said.

Jameel shook his head. To be honest, he wasn't sure – between being frozen half to death and gong cold turkey on the Glamour all at once, he was feeling all sorts of unpleasant and unfamiliar things, but he had a general idea that an oath backlash was hard to mistake for anything less dramatic.

"Then they don't know," Jenny said. "Or at least they can't be sure. Besides, if you're right about them wanting to use you for something underhanded, they'll pretend not to suspect anything either way. If they _do_ grab you and throw you in the Pools, then you can be sure that they really _did_ want to make you court Soothsayer."

"That's not terribly comforting," Jameel said.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Jenny said cheerfully. "Did I give you the impression I was trying to be comforting?"

Jameel winced.

"So say that Josey doesn't throw me in the Pools for helping you," he said, "and Broch doesn't throw me in his dungeons for swearing fealty to Malenna. How about that team-up?"

"You and me?" Jenny said. "Forming our own conspiracy to find the truth, defeat all evil-doers and put the rightful heir, whoever the hell that might be, on the throne? Bad odds, imminent danger, every hand against us, all but certain death?" She grinned widely. "I think that's _just_ what the doctor ordered."

"I'm guessing you're still not trying to be comforting," Jameel said dryly.

"Pretty much," Jenny said. "I'm serious, though. I'm in. At this point, I think I either do something incredibly stupid and heroic, or I stumble into the Undoing. And I'd literally rather die." She glanced at him. "I'm not sure what your motivation is, though."

Jameel sighed and shrugged.

"Oh, what choice do I have?" he said. "Broch doesn't give a shit about me, so if I stay loyal to him either Josey or Jax will get me. Josey is probably planning something devious and trying to use me as a chess piece to be sacrificed for the greater good. If I stay with _either_ side, I'll probably get killed. I figure my best bet is to try and manufacture a third side of my own, one that _will_ care if I live or die."

"Or you could run," Jenny said gently.

"I've tried that. It doesn't seem to work." He hesitated, but when it came right down to it saying the next part was a lot easier than he had thought. "Jax wants me to kill you."

Jenny gave him a startled look.

"Oooookay?" she said carefully.

"That's his condition for letting me get off the hook with him," Jameel said. "I kill you or he kills me, he says."

"Makes sense," Jenny said, deadpan. "That fits with the Shadow Court's whole 'corrupt the world' mission statement."

"You're being weirdly calm about this…" Jameel said.

Jenny shrugged.

"Well, I figure that if you're _telling_ me, it means you're not planning on _doing_ it," she said. "Which is nice."

"Of course I'm not planning on doing it!" said Jameel, and told himself that there hadn't been a moment, not the tiniest instant, when he had seriously contemplated going along with it. Ran the thought through his head in a panic, yes, but actually had a moment when he might have decided to do it? Certainly not.

He told himself that, and wasn't sure if he could believe it. He found himself actually envying the stupid Fiona Sidhe. They might do things for all sorts of reasons, not all of them especially honourable, but they'd never do something just because they were scared shitless and wanted to save their own hide.

"So what's the plan?" Jenny said, and Jameel realised with a mix of shame and relief that she clearly thought the issue was played out. "We want to fight the power. Works for me. Where do we start?"

"Well…" Jameel scratched his chin. "I think we should do exactly what we set out to do today, before the Wildlings turned up and distracted us. We need to find Big Brian. I mean, he's at the intersection point of everything that's going on, isn't he? He pretended to work for Broch, he's really working for Josey, and he's a _Thallain_ – tied to the Shadow Court pretty much just by existing. Also, he's pretty dumb. We should be able to get the truth out of him."

Jenny nodded, her expression business-like.

"We'll ask around," she said. "Start by hitting the _Noisy Tomb _again, then move on to the smaller Freeholds. Someone will have seen Brian. Ogres aren't exactly inconspicuous. And then, once we've pumped him for information?"

"Then we'll see," Jameel said.

"In other words," Jenny said, "we're going to make it up as we go along?"

"Pretty much," Jameel admitted.

Jenny beamed.

"I'm liking this adventure already!"

Jameel groaned.

"You would."

"I need new gear first, though," Jenny said. "I want Sauraq back, but that can wait. But I need to have _some_ kind of sword and armour before going after bad guys. A knight's only as good as her equipment, and between Jax and Josey, I'm down to a teensy little knife."

"Okay, so you spend the morning visiting some Nocker armour-smith," Jameel said. "I spend the morning studying for the midterms. Then we meet up and go Brian-hunting."

Jenny smirked.

"I can't get over the fact that 'interfere in a civil war and put the rightful heir on the throne, saving my own life in the process' comes right after 'cramming for midterms' on your list."

"Well, it counts for sixty percent of my grade," Jameel said gloomily. "You're lucky you never had to go through higher education. It's murder."

"Oh, I don't know," Jenny said. "At least your tutor won't stripe you with the flat of his blade if he thinks your fencing skills aren't all they should be yet. So you're heading home, then?"

"Yeah." Jameel hesitated, then groaned. "No! Damn it, I can't – my wards will have expired, and I'm all out of Glamour to put them back. Jax can sneak in in the middle of the night and rip my throat out if he likes." He grimaced sheepishly. "Don't suppose you'd consider enchanting me before I go…?"

"Hey, I'll do you better than that," Jenny said. "You can stay here for the night. The Solitary Tower is a small Freehold, but it's got enough Glamour to replenish two people overnight." She grinned. "If you're out of juice, I'll fill you up."

"Thanks," Jameel said, relieved. "I appreciate that."

Jenny gave him a slow, naughty look.

"I'll expect you to return the favour, though," she said.

Jameel shrugged.

"Sure, I guess," he said. "What do you want me to do?"

"I told you," Jenny said. "I want you to return the favour." The mischievous look was still on her face, but it was starting to get a strained come-on-get-the-joke-already quality to it. "I want you to fill me up."

Jameel tried to figure out what the hell she was on about.

"Well, I don't actually have a Freehold," he said. "And _Kinain_ can't do that musing thing you lot do. I'm not sure how you expect me to…"

Jenny drew a long-suffering sigh, her expression saying that she was surrounded by philistines.

"I was here using the term 'fill me up' as a euphemism for sex," she said. "I was, in fact, suggesting that we spend the night making love to each other. And why doesn't anyone get my double entendres?"

Jameel stared.

"I mean, it's not like they're so terribly subtle or anything," Jenny said.

Jameel stared.

"Did the entire male half of the species get struck by terminal literal-mindedness when I wasn't looking?" Jenny said, shaking her head.

Jameel stared.

Jenny slowly moved her hand back and forth in front of his eyes.

"Uhm… hello…?" she said. "Are you still there…?"

"Is… is this a joke?" Jameel said. "Because if it is, it's not funny."

Jenny winced.

"It's not a joke. It's a sincere, heartfelt offer. Is it so hard for you to believe a girl might be interested in you in a naked full-body sense?"

"Considering that the only time that's happened so far, the girl was a servant of the Eternal Winter and just let me screw her so she could turn me evil?" Jameel said.

"Good point," Jenny admitted. "But come on, you can't let a little thing like that mess you up." She reached out and stroked his cheek. "I mean, you're smart. And you're funny. And you care about your family, and you were willing to break an oath and suffer the consequences because you thought it was the right thing to do – hey, I _am_ Seelie, you know. Honour's sexy."

It dawned on Jameel that this was for real. No joke. No conspiracy to damn his very soul. No bizarre case of mistaken identity. Jenny meant it.

"What about Bob?" he said, because he was an idiot and a self-destructive freak who secretly wanted to ruin his own life.

"I'm not in the mood for Bob tonight," Jenny said. "I'm in the mood for Jameel." She grinned. "If that's too casual for you, you can always say no."

Jameel's libido piped up and threatened armed rebellion if he even _thought_ about saying no.

"Uhm… yes?" he said in a strained voice. "Yes – _yes_."

Jenny kissed him. Her strong fingers burrowed themselves in his hair.

"The kid was right," she said when drew back, leaving him gasping. "This stuff's like silk."

"Thank you," Jameel said dumbly, his voice sounding muffled. The memory of the kiss was still like a solid thing in his mouth, warm and tingly and sweet.

Jenny got to her feet, pulling him up with her. Her towel slipped and she was naked in the firelight, and Jameel realised that he had been insane to think she was less beautiful without the Glamour. Jenny was a goddess. Jenny was _perfect_.

She kissed him again and again, quick, sure brushes of lips against lips. She pulled him with her as she stepped backwards, and he followed, trying very hard to run his hands over every inch of warm, soft skin that he could reach. He was vaguely aware that Jenny was acting kind of like she was in a duel, manoeuvring for position, testing his defences, and that was insane and stupid and scary and somehow it made him so aroused that it hurt.

Jenny pushed him down on the bed and helped him out of his shorts, leaving him as naked as she was. She reached for something on the bedside table, and before he knew it she had slipped a condom on him.

"_You_ practice safe sex?" Jameel said, because the self-destructive idiot part of his brain had yet to give up.

Jenny made a face as she lay down on top of him. She was surprisingly heavy – she was shorter and slimmer than him, but so much of her body was hard muscle.

"Yeah, and I put on armour before rushing into battle, too," she said. "I'm a hothead. Not an idiot."

Jameel couldn't argue with that. And a moment later, when Jenny had guided the suitably armoured part of him into her, all interfering thoughts mercifully went away and he managed to focus completely at the situation at hand.

He was clumsy and awkward and he knew it, but Jenny knew exactly what she was doing, and he gratefully fell into her rhythm, matching her thrust for thrust, slowly at first and then faster. He stroked Jenny's hips, her thighs, her breasts, kept his trembling hands moving the way Minnie had said that he should, and dear God, what he wouldn't have given not to have to think about Minnie right now, but it was all he had to go on.

After a while Jenny's breaths became quick and ragged, and finally she gave off a long, drawn-out moan and went limp on top of him. For a few moments, she was a still, heavy weight pushing him down into the mattress, and he had time to wonder if she'd fallen asleep, and if so, would it be wrong in some way if he tried to finish anyway, because he really didn't think he could stop at this point. But then she looked up, her ruffled hair falling around her face, and grinned mischievously at him.

"Your turn," she said, and started moving again. Jameel lay back, inactive, barely responding anymore – it was okay, he thought, she was done, he hadn't messed up too badly, now he could just relax and just… let it… happen… _oh God, Jenny, Jenny, JENNY…_

When he was finished, she rolled off of him and drew a content sigh as she flopped down by his side.

"Well, that wasn't too shabby for our first time," she said.

"No…" Jameel gasped, wondering whether his heart would slow down soon or whether it would burst, and not caring overly much. Then he lifted his head and gave her a startled look. "Wait, what? Our _first_ time?"

"Uh-huh," Jenny said.

"Not our one and only time," Jameel said. "Our _first_ time. As in a time that is followed by an undecided number of subsequent times."

"Sure," Jenny said. "And if you don't nod off, we can get to work on some of those as soon as you've…" She glanced slyly down the length of Jameel's body. "… recharged."

Jameel's head slumped back down to the pillow again. He stared blankly at the ceiling.

_God?_ he thought. _If this is your way of making up for – well, for pretty much my entire life so far – I just want to say… good job. Keep it up._


	13. Chapter 13

_Author's note: Last chapter in this batch. See you September. _

Jenny was woken up by noise. She was vaguely aware that the noise was of a human origin, and could specifically be sorted into a category called 'singing.' It was even possibly, her half-sleeping mind conceded, that the singing was rather lovely to an objective ear. However, before she had had her first cup of coffee, every sound above a certain volume was _noise_.

  "Shut up or I've got a fireball here with your name on it, pal," she muttered and squinted against the dawn light.

  "Good morning!" said the Jameel-shaped blob standing over by the fire, stirring in a pot. He sounded disgustingly chirpy. "I found some oats. How do you stand on oatmeal?"

  Jenny wasn't sure why he was bringing up her battle against the Breakfast Beast from Oatmeal Marsh all of a sudden, but she was too woozy and newly-awakened to question it.

  "Oh, this Boggan made me a couple of special shoes," she mumbled. "Kind of like snowshoes, only with flotation pillows around the sides…"

  "I'll take that as a 'yes please, I'll have some,'" Jameel said and lifted the pot off the fire. He went over to the table and put it down there before turning to her. He smiled, almost shyly. "You're beautiful."

  "So you're all Glamoured up, then?" Jenny said. She stretched and yawned.

  "That wasn't quite what I meant."

  Jenny had to admit that he was sort of sweet. She just didn't have much interest in 'sweet' at this hour.

  "What time is it?" she said, suppressing another yawn.

  Jameel checked his watch.

  "About six o'clock," he said.

  "And you're up? And _cheerful_?" Jenny squinted at him. "You're strange and unnatural."

  "The early bird gets the worm, Jenny," Jameel said sagely.

  "Yeah, and the early worm gets _eaten_," Jenny said.

  Jameel laughed.

  "I guess I never thought of it like that," he said. "Look, I'm sorry if you wanted to sleep in. I just figured you'd want a head start. Want me to let myself out so you can get a few more hours of shut-eye?"

  Jenny decided that perhaps she wasn't so uninterested in 'sweet' after all.

  "No," she said. "I do want an early start. So come over here and jumpstart me. And by 'jumpstart,' I mean…"

  "Yes, thank you, I got it this time," Jameel said, walking over to the bed.

  "About time _someone_ did," Jenny muttered as she pulled him down on top of her.

--

Porthos' armoury, weapons-forge and bicycle repair shop was located in a small house in a quiet part of town. Porthos himself was a short, bulky Nocker, almost half as wide as he was tall, with a red face and suit of leather that had so many straps and so many shiny buckles that Jenny thought he must need more time to get dressed in the morning than she did putting on her armour.

  When she had a suit of armour, that was – but then, that was exactly what she was here to ensure.

  "You should have _frubbitigrubbiti _full plate armour," Porthos grumbled as he went around her and measured the distance from her shoulder to her hip and the circumference of her arms and the length of her legs and all sorts of arcane things like that. "Why the _herkenbererken_ you prance around like a _borgrehestrachen_ idiot in that pathetic _frump _heap of _drechbach _spare pieces of yours…"

  "Careful what you say about my baby, Porthos," Jenny said, smiling wryly. "I spent years custom-making that suit. And I don't like full plate, because I can't move properly in it. Just give me something that puts a nice piece of steel in between my vital organs and any teeth, claws and blades that might be heading my way, would you?"

  "_Dofkrofbaranmaranhochtitymachtretduch_!" Porthos said with feeling. Jenny had never met any non-Nocker who could make head nor tails out of that weird language that Nockers swore in, but then, no one really needed to understand. It didn't matter what the words actually meant, or even if they meant anything – any Nocker worth his wrench could say 'ice cream' and make it sound like a horrific obscenity. "I'll see what I've got! At least pick out a _frump_ sword while you wait!"

  He stomped into the inner workshop, leaving Jenny alone in the outer room with a heavily make-upped Satyr girl who was browsing a set of crooked knives. Jenny went over to the wall where an assortment of swords hung.

  _I'm so getting Sauraq back,_ she thought. _There's got to be some people around who wouldn't mind getting rid of the damn Icespire Redcaps – I can talk to some of them, see if I can form a war party. That might be a good start to Jameel's 'third side,' come to that…_

  "Can't decide?" the Satyr said.

  "Kind of want my old sword back," Jenny said absently. "It got stolen by this Redcap asshole the day before yesterday…"

  The Satyr giggled.

  "That must have been so embarrassing!" she said. "You being a hotshot Sidhe knight and all, and getting robbed by some Redcap street trash!"

  Jenny glanced at her over her shoulder.

  "Can't say I was happy about it, no…" she said and went back to looking at the swords.

  "So what about your armour?" the Satyr said after a while. "Did that Redcap steal it, too?"

  "No, that was Old Josey and his damn Wildlings…" Jenny said. "Look, do you mind?"

  "So you got robbed _twice_?" the Satyr said gleefully. "Man, you must be the worst knight _ever_!"

  "Okay, that's enough!" Jenny turned around. "I don't know where you're from, but around here, commoners are expected to show some respect for the nobility. Now, I'm pretty liberal, so I'm just going to tell you. But if you pull this shit on some of the others, they'll have your head. Do you understand?"

  The Satyr bowed gracefully.

  "I understand," she said. "Thank you for the warning."

  "No problem," Jenny muttered and turned around again.

  "By the way," the Satyr said, "your ass looks fat in those jeans."

  Jenny snatched a broadsword from the wall and spun around, placing its tip at the Satyr's throat. The Satyr just grinned insolently.

  "What the hell's your problem?" Jenny said. "Do you have a death wish or something?"

  "Maybe I just don't like stuck-up Sidhe bitches," the Satyr said.

  "Then how about I give you a chance to put your steel where your mouth is?" Jenny said sweetly. "Hmm? The Scarlet Trip, sweetheart. Right here, right now. The loser has to beg the winner for forgiveness. Interested?"

  "Scarlet Trip, huh?" the Satyr said. "That's to first blood, right?"

  "That's right," Jenny said. "And while I'm _convinced_ you wouldn't dream of cheating, I'll just make sure by putting a teensy bit of Sovereign into it and **commanding that the rules be enforced by the power of the Dreaming.** Pick your weapon."

  The Satyr shrugged and picked up two nasty, crooked daggers.

  "You sure?" Jenny said. "Knives aren't really the best idea against a swordsman who can see you coming. I won't give you the chance to get close enough to use them."

  "Too bad," the Satyr said. "I'll stick with them anyway, though."

  Jenny snorted. The girl was nuts. But what did she care, as long as she got to teach this little upstart some manners?

  She took a deep breath and recited the oath of the Scarlet Trip. After a few words, the Satyr fell in with her.

  "_Today we trip for honour and right. Guide our hands, Mother Dream, as we fight. Fae are quick to anger, but quicker to mend. We swear, tomorrow our anger will end_."

  With that, Jenny advanced on the Satyr.

  She had made sure not to be overconfident – she'd been around long enough to know that when a visibly powerful Seelie warrior was challenged by an insolent, apparently puny Unseelie rebel, then it was almost a law of the Dreaming that the rebel would prove to be an incredibly skilled fighter. She'd been open to the possibility that this would be harder than it seemed. It wasn't, though – the Satyr was fast, but not as fast as her, and Jenny drove her across the floor with a series of quick, certain motions.

  The Satyr tried to get around Jenny's blade to get close enough to attack with her knives, but Jenny kept the sword-point aimed squarely at the Satyr's heart as she advanced, forcing the Satyr across the floor to avoid getting skewered. Finally, she had the Satyr by the wall, and with a quick, dismissive flick of the sword, she opened a shallow cut on the Satyr's shoulder. The commoner gave off a cry of pain and clutched at the wound, dropping one of her daggers in the process.

  Jenny lowered her sword.

  "You lose," she said tonelessly. "Now **kneel before me**."

  The Satyr sullenly stepped closer, sinking to her hairy knees in front of Jenny – and then her hand shot out, ramming her remaining dagger into Jenny's gut.

  Jenny couldn't even scream. Part of her mind was paralysed with pain – another part of her mind, the knight part, the one that had been wounded so many times that it hardly paid attention to it anymore, was racing and demanding to know how, how, _how_…

  The Satyr giggled.

  "I think what I like best is the look on your stupid, prissy faces when your precious Sovereign fails," she said. "You all get the same one, did you know that?" She twisted her painted face into an expression of exaggerated disbelief. "The one that says, _duuuuuuhhh, this isn't supposed to happen_!" She snickered again, a high-pitched and unpleasant sound.

  She patted Jenny on the shoulder as the Sidhe knight sank to her knees, her legs growing too weak to carry her.

  "I think you know a friend of mine," she said. "My name's Minnie."


	14. Chapter 14

_Author's note: It's not September for another two days, but I've got some ISP issues right now, so I'd better upload what I can, while I can. For that reason, here's the first part of this autumn's season of _Crossroads_. Enjoy._

  Jameel walked into his room with a song in his heart and another, quite loud one, on his lips. For that, he suffered a very well-deserved pillow in the face.

  "Well, good morning to you too!" he said to the bleary, newly awakened face of Roland who was scowling at him from his bed.

  "It's seven in the morning!" Roland said after a glance at the alarm clock. "I was up half the night studying! Anyone who walks into my room singing _Carmina__ Burana_ under these conditions should count himself lucky if a pillow is the worst thing I throw at him!"

  "Well, I almost froze to death last night, but you don't hear me complaining," Jameel said and threw himself onto his bed. "And it was not _Carmina__ Burana, _it was _Trionfo__ di Afrodite_."

  "Why can you even tell one piece of pretentious foreign music from another?" Roland complained. "Isn't your family working class?"

  "We like to see ourselves more as poverty-stricken gentry," Jameel said.

  Roland groaned and swung his feet out of bed.

  "Coffee," he said. "For the love of all that is holy, coffee. Where were you last night, anyway?"

  "Oh, I got into something complicated," Jameel said offhandedly. "I got out of it, sort of, but then it was too late to come back here. So I kind of spent the night somewhere else."

  Roland stopped in his tracks halfway to the coffee machine. He turned and gave Jameel a look of growing, amazed realisation.

  "Oh – my – God," he said flatly. "This isn't just your usual annoying early-morning chirpiness. This is something more." He pointed a finger at Jameel, his eyes wide. "You've gotten laid!"

  Jameel gave him a wide, obnoxious grin.

  "What can I say?" he said. "Last night, Hell must have frozen over!"

  "Ye gods." Roland went to set the coffee machine to work. "So? Who was she?" He paused and considered. "Or he?"

  "She," Jameel said. "Still not gay here." He recalled something Jenny had said. "I think _she_ might swing both ways, mind you."

  "That's hot," Roland said matter-of-factly. "Also, it explains a lot. She must have mistaken you for a woman."

  Jameel sniffed and gestured in the air in front of him.

  "See this?" he said. "This is my invisible I-had-sex-last-night field. It nullifies all the cruel and hurtful remarks coming my way."

  Roland leaned against the wall.

  "So how's your gang trouble turning out?" he said. He raised an eyebrow. "Or did you get distracted from that?"

  "Well, they haven't made a move just yet," Jameel said with a shrug. "And I've got some ideas for how to deal with it now. Things will work out."

  Roland nodded.

  "Well, try not to get killed," he said. "I take a great deal of morbid interest in hearing about your messed-up life, so I'd hate to have to trade down for a duller roommate."

  "As always," Jameel said, "your concern for my well-being is deeply touching."

  He put his arms under his head and closed his eyes, grinning smugly to himself. He felt _good_, and that wasn't really a common thing for him – acceptably non-miserable was about as much as he usually aspired to. He knew it that half of it was stupid hormones and the other half was that he had proved himself by a standard of manhood that he hated anyway, and so really he had nothing in particular to gloat over, but for a moment he thought he was allowed to lay back and enjoy the feeling.

  _Besides, no need to be quite _that_ cynical, Johnson,_ he told himself_. You also spent last night doing interesting, intimate thing with someone who's a pretty awesome person, and you both enjoyed yourselves. I think you're allowed to feel good about that._

  The phone rang.

  "Could you get that?" Roland said.

  "Nope," Jameel said, opening one eye just enough so he could properly aim an annoying grin in Roland's direction. "I'm going to lie here and gloat for a bit longer. You get it."

  "Bastard." Roland went to pick up the phone. "Yeah, hello? Uh-huh. Yeah, he's here. Hang on." He held out the phone. "It's for you," he said. "I think it's that chick of yours."

  "Oh, okay." Jameel got up and went over to take the phone from Roland. "What's up, Jenny?"

  "Sorry," a smoky voice said on the other end, making Jameel's stomach clench up and sending painful shivers down his spine. "Wrong hottie."

  Jameel tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn't obey him. His mind was completely empty except for an endless broken-record string of _no no no no no no no no no no_.

  "What's the matter?" the voice said. "You haven't forgotten me already, loverboy? I'll be _so_ hurt if you have."

  "Minnie…" Jameel breathed. Roland was looking at him oddly.

  "You _do_ remember me!" Minnie said happily. "How have you been, baby? Made any new friends?"

  "What do you want?" Jameel said hoarsely. This was worse than Jax. Jax just scared the shit out of him. Jax didn't make him feel like crawling out of his skin.

  "Oh, I don't know," Minnie said. "All sorts of stuff. World peace. A white Christmas. This really cool jacket I saw in the window last week. And you coming back to where you belong."

  "I'm… still thinking," Jameel said. "Jax said I had time to think it over."

  "Yeah, but you're kind of thick," Minnie said. "So we thought we'd make it a little easier for you. Guess who I'm with right now?"

  Jameel closed his eyes. _Made any new friends,_ she'd said…

  "I got your Sidhe bitch right here," Minnie said cheerfully. "And I'm not really happy with her, the boyfriend-stealing little slut."

  "I'm not your…"

  "You are until I say you aren't," Minnie said matter-of-factly. "So what do you think I'm going to do with her? Whatever you think, I can guarantee you it's not imaginative enough."

  Jameel's mind raced.

  "Prove it," you said. "Let me talk to her."

  "No problem, baby," Minnie said. "Hey, Jenny, he wants to talk to you." There was a brief silence.

  "Jenny?" Jameel said.

  There was nothing in the other end but silence.

  "Hey, come on," Minnie said – distantly, her mouth clearly some distance away from the receiver now. She sounded annoyed for the first time. "What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" Her voice came closer again. "She doesn't want to talk."

  "Nice try," Jameel said. "She's either dead or you don't have her."

  Roland turned around, raising an eyebrow.

  "Yeah, I guess that's what she wants you to think," Minnie said. "I guess the high and mighty knight doesn't fancy the idea of being a hostage, so she's clamming up, the bitch. But I really _do_ have her."

  Jameel grimaced. He could imagine it all too well, unfortunately. Jenny would be sitting there, captured and helpless, maybe even wounded or in chains, but defiant to the very end and not scared in the slightest because Fiona Sidhe didn't get scared. The silence proved nothing.

  But Minnie knew all that too.

  "You're going to have to do better than that," he growled.

  "Sure!" Minnie said. "One moment."

  The next second there was a scream – partly pain, mostly rage, and unmistakably Jenny.

  "_You fucking bitch!_" Jameel yelled helplessly into the receiver.

  "Ooooh yes, that's it!" Minnie said, practically purring. "That's the stuff we need. You've got some real darkness beneath that fumbling, stuttering good-little-boy routine, Jameel. Once we bring that out properly, we'll make a decent Shadow Court operative out of you yet. Hey, Jenny, now that he knows you're here, do you want to… Oh, good."

  Jenny's voice appeared at the other end of the line, strained and angry.

  "I don't need to tell you this is a trap, do I?" she said.

  "No," Jameel said. "No, it's kind of obvious."

  "Don't listen to her," Jenny said promptly. "Whatever she tells you to do, tell her to go fuck herself."

  "They'll torture you," Jameel said. In his mind, he saw Marissa on the floor, blood pooling around her. "They'll kill you."

  "Knight," Jenny said. She sounded a little blurry, like talking was taking more effort than she could spare. "Occupational hazard. Don't worry about it."

  "No," Jameel said. "I don't accept that."

  "So you're going to do something stupid." Jenny sighed.

  "Yeah."

  "At least do it in a smart way," Jenny said, and then Minnie took the phone again.

  "You know where Icespire is?" she said. "Hint – you spent a big chunk of Monday afternoon suspended from the ceiling of it."

  "I know where it is."

  "Be there two hours from now," Minnie said. "And don't try anything clever."

  "I'm feeling really unclever right now," Jameel said hollowly.

  "That's my boy," Minnie said and hung up.

  Jameel remained standing with the phone in his hand, staring into space.

  _This is so bad. This is _so bad_._

  "So," Roland said. "I take it things aren't going too well?"

  Jameel looked at him, blankly.

  "I… I guess they just made their move," he said. He hung up the phone and took a deep breath. "I've got to go."

  "Okay," Roland said. "Where?"

  "They want me to go somewhere," Jameel said. "That girl I was with last night, they've grabbed her and they're holding her hostage. They want me to come."

  "Well, then that's the absolute last place you should go," Roland said. "You do see that, right?"

  "I have to." Jameel grimaced. "I think I've got perhaps a chance in a hundred to turn the tables on them, but I've got to play along first."

  "Alternatively," Roland said, "you could try calling the police. I mean, at this point things are pretty much bad enough that it can't hurt, aren't they?"

  Jameel shook his head.

  "I'm not calling the police," he said. "But you can. Just give me… let's say two hours first. If you don't hear from me before then, call and tell them to come to," he tried to remember where Icespire really was, "54 Mark Street. 'Cause if you haven't heard from before then, things have officially gone from bad to worse."

  "We're not already at worse?" Roland said.

  "There's always even more worse," Jameel said wisely and walked out the door.


	15. Chapter 15

Icespire was freezing cold, but Jenny was burning with humiliation. It was even worse than the constant, howling pain from her savaged gut. This was what it came down to, was it? This was what she had become. She wanted to scream, but at the moment, even breathing took some effort.

  Everything in a changeling's life was a story. She had been a hero, a villain, a lover, a seeker, an avenger… a thousand different roles, and she had played each one to her fullest. But if this was her last story, then it seemed like it was going to be some kind of black comedy of humiliation and futility.

  She had tried, she really had. She had fought as hard as she could to get out from the fugue of Banality and despair she had been under, to be Mennavere again. But nothing had worked. She'd lost her magic sword, she had lost her armour, and she'd needed saving again and again. And now this, the final straw. She was being held hostage to make some man come and save her. She had become a damsel in distress.

  _Minne's right, the bitch. I'm the worst knight ever._

  She was lying in a cell – three walls were ice, and the third consisted of bars of cold iron. Someone had tied up her wound with strips of cloth that didn't look all too sterile to Jenny, but which at least kept her guts from spilling out. There was a fire burning some ten steps beyond her prison, and Redcap guards were clustered around it.

  The chances of escape were pretty much nil.

  But on the bright side, it wasn't like she had anything better to do than to give it a try.

  "Hey!" she croaked, ignoring the fact that every breath hurt her ravaged muscles. "Am I going to get fed anytime soon? I demand food! In fact, I demand lots of stuff, including a better cell that fits someone of my station, but first off, I demand food!"

  "Shut up," one of the Redcap guards said.

  "I will not!" Jenny said. She felt sweat beading on her forehead from the effort, but she could hardly suppress a grin all the same. Annoying the guards was at least doing _something_. "I'm going to yell! I'm going to scream! I'm going to whine and bitch and complain! I'm not going to give you a moment of peace! Bring me food! And I don't mean that crap that you big-mouths eat, either, I mean proper food! Possibly chicken."

  "Shut up, or I'm coming in there and shutting you up!" the guard said.

  "Ooooh – scary!" Jenny said. She didn't mind the idea at all. The moment he opened the cell door and didn't have that stupid barrier of cold iron between them anymore, she could snap her fingers and light him on fire. Then she'd have an open door to freedom, or at least to the main hall of Icespire, which was packed to the brim with Redcaps who didn't like her much and who weren't encumbered by a barely-wrapped-up stomach wound. But still, she'd have something to work with.

  "Fine," the guard said. "If you won't shut up on your own, I'll fucking knock you out."

  He got up and started walking towards the cell. Jenny's hopes were dashed, however, when a voice rang out from beyond her field of vision.

  "Not another step, you fucking moron!" it said, and a second later, Jax stepped into view. He glared at the guard, who shrank back before him. "She's a Sidhe knight, shithead. That means a big fat 'handle with caution'! That cell door doesn't open unless you got two guys alongside you, and two more standing by to step in if you really fuck up!"

  "She's just one girl," the guard muttered. "And wounded."

  "Ever heard of Marwach the Malevolent?" Jax said. "He said the same thing, from what I hear, and five minutes later she was carrying his head on her spear."

  "Actually, that story's been exaggerated," Jenny said. "It was more like fifteen minutes."

  She felt an odd sort of satisfaction at seeing that Jax thought that this much caution was warranted. It was bad, of course – he wasn't stupid and he wasn't careless, and that meant that she wouldn't get any openings – but still, still… apparently _he_ thought she was still a knight.

  Jax snorted and stepped up to stand in front of the bars, leaning against his feathered spear.

  "Whatever," he said. "Stop fucking with my guards."

  "Give me a good reason," Jenny said. With effort, she managed to sit up, clutching her stomach with a grimace. "I got stabbed in the gut, tied up before I knew what was what, thrown in the trunk of a car and then driven here and pushed into a cell. I don't really feel like doing you any favours, is what I'm saying."

  "The reason," Jax said, "is that if you don't shut your fucking mouth, I really _will_ take a couple of guys and go in there and rough you up some more."

  "Am I supposed to be scared?" Jenny said. "I don't _get_ scared, remember?" She smirked. "I bet that must be _really_ annoying to you, since getting people scared is pretty much all you Redcaps are good for. Well, that and eating disgusting stuff."

  Jax spat.

  "And what are Sidhe good for?" he said. "Being fucking _decorative_?"

  "It's a tough job, but someone's got to do it."

  "Whatever." Jax grimaced with his huge, tooth-filled mouth. "Okay, so you're not scared of me. Fucking great for you. But do you _want_ us to come in there and break a couple of your bones?"

  "Not really," Jenny said. "But I kind of think that you're going to end up torturing me to death in the end anyway. So, you know, why put off the inevitable?"

  Jax hesitated.

  "You don't really _want_ to hurt me right now, do you?" Jenny said. "I'm already in a pretty bad way. Any more, and you could end up killing me by accident. And you want to be able to trot me out alive in front of Jameel if you need to, don't you?"

  "It'd be handy," Jax said. "But we could make do, know what I mean?"

  "So I shouldn't push you," Jenny said. "Okay, I got that. How about we come to an arrangement?"

  Jax looked suspicious.

  "I'm not letting you out of that cell," he said. "I don't trust you."

  "Okay, fine," Jenny said. "But how about this – I don't bug your guards anymore, and you send someone over for me to talk to." She grinned. "Come on, it's not like I can Sovereign them, can I? You all know that counter-Art shit."

  "So talk to the guards," Jax said. "They're sitting right out there. I can tell them to humour you."

  "I don't want to talk to the guards," Jenny said. "I want to talk to Big Brian."

  Jax frowned.

  "What the hell for?" he said. "Brian's not exactly witty."

  "Well, for starters, you just admitted that he's _here_," Jenny said, smiling obnoxiously. "Which is interesting. But mostly, it's that he's the only one here I know, even if I don't like him much. Okay?"

  Jax shook his head.

  "Fine," he said. "Why the hell not? Obviously you've got some kind of dumb escape plan you want to try out. It'll be fun to see it crash and burn. I'll send Big Brian over."

  "Can't blame a girl for trying," Jenny said, beaming at him. He scowled at her and went away.

  Jenny had to admit that she did not, in fact, have a plan. But then, that had never stopped her before. She worked by a very simple principle – when you did things, stuff happened. If you didn't like the situation you were in, you could usually get out of it by doing things until enough stuff had happened you were in a different situation.

  After a while, Big Brian lumbered into view, huge and shaggy, smirking around his tusks. He knelt down in front of her cell with in a deafening series of grunts, groans and crackling joints.

  "Jax said you wanted to talk," he said.

  "Sure." Jenny managed a lazy smile. "So, how'd the Ducks do in the game yesterday? I meant to watch it, but then I got busy."

  Brian blinked and furrowed his already quite furry brow.

  "Lost," he said. "Five to one." He paused and scowled. "Lost fifty bucks on that one."

  "Crap," Jenny said. "I thought Roger Martins would make the difference."

  "He did okay," Brian allowed. "The other five assholes, though…"

  Jenny sighed.

  "We've got a weak team this year," she said.

  "I guess." Brian frowned. "This what you wanted to talk about? Sports?"

  "Well, it's the only thing that I like that I credit you with having an informed opinion on," Jenny said.

  Brian scowled some more, showing huge, yellow teeth.

  "Of course," Jenny said, "it'd be even more interesting if you'd tell me something of what's going on here. Like, who're you really working for?"

  Brian shrugged.

  "Dunno," he said. "No one. Everyone. People keep telling me to fuck people up, and I like fucking people up, so I do it. Sometimes I get paid, too."

  "That's it?" Jenny said. "No secret conspiracy? No ulterior motive? No interesting story about how you're a double agent for either Josey, Broch or Jax? You just go around being a jerk to people, and the only reason why you even pretend to work for _any_ of those three is that that gives you more chances for it?"

  Brian smirked.

  "I don't do faggy shit like conspiracies. I just kick ass."

  "Do any of them know that that's how you see it?" Jenny said.

  Brian shrugged his mountainous shoulders.

  "Dunno. Who cares?"

  _You should,_ Jenny thought. _Broch isn't exactly tolerant when it comes to people not doing what he wants them to. Of course, he already wants to drag you back to his Freehold and have his flunkies give you a nice, slow death, so I guess that's not really an issue for you anymore…_

  "There _is_ a conspiracy, though," Jenny said. "Actually, I think there might be a lot of them going on all at once. Jax isn't just here for Jameel. What's the Shadow Court working towards here, hmm? And who's it working _with_? Josey or Broch?" She tilted her head. "Or both of them at once?"

  "I told you," Brian said. "I don't care about that shit. I just kick ass."

  "Mmm. I guess I get that," Jenny said. She grinned. "You know? If I never get out of here alive, I'm going to be sorry I never got to fight you. It would have been fun to see who was tougher."

  Brian laughed harshly.

  "You're just a little girl! I'd snap you over one knee!"

  "Bullshit," Jenny said cheerfully. "I took down the Ogre of Mousepool, didn't I? And he was much bigger than you."

  Brian glowered.

  "He was old and slow."

  "He was sly, though," Jenny said. "And for an old geezer, he was tough. For a while there I thought he'd never stay down."

  "Still say I could take you," Brian said.

  Before Jenny could reply, someone that she liked the look of even less than Brian entered her field of vision. Minne walked into view, strutting in a way that Jenny would have thought was kind of hot if she hadn't been so utterly disgusting with the foul woman.

  "Hey, Brian, take a walk or something," she said sweetly. "I want to talk to Lady Mennavere. You know, girl talk. You wouldn't be interested."

  Brian scowled.

  "Why should I do anything you tell me?" he said.

  Minnie giggled.

  "You're so _funny_! You should do what I tell you, silly, because otherwise I'll tell Jax and he'll wrap your guts around a pole!"

  Brian made an ugly face, the fact that his face was rather ugly to start with notwithstanding. But he got up and left.

  "What do you want?" Jenny said. Her wound ached especially much just from looking at Minnie.

  "Oh, you know." Minnie beamed at her. "Gloat."

  "Well, that's very clichéd-villain of you," Jenny said. She couldn't keep herself from feeling the slightest hint of professional approval, though. If a villain didn't stop by your cell for a gloating session, you knew that he took no pride in his craft.

  "Do you want to know what our plans are?" Minnie said. "I could tell you, you know. You don't have to try to get it out of Brian. He doesn't know anything, anyway."

  "Why would you tell me anything?" Jenny said. "No, wait, I understand that one. Gloating. But why would you tell me anything _truthfully_?"

  "Well, you're not going to believe me anyway," Minnie said. "So I might as well tell you the truth. Or not. Doesn't that just make your tiny little jock brain hurt?"

  "Don't know," Jenny said. "I'm too occupied with the pain in my flat little jock belly. Okay, fine. I'll bite. What _is_ going on?"

  "Well…" Minnie absently rolled a lock of her hair around her finger. "Basically, we're here to incite chaos and suffering and bring about Eternal Winter."

  "Yes, thank you, I'd already guessed that one," Jenny said. "_Specifically_, what the hell are you doing? Are you with Broch?"

  "We like Broch," Minnie said serenely. "He's a brutal genocidal maniac, just the way we want them. And he's taxing everyone pretty hard, which means that everyone's really hurting for Glamour, which means that they have to go out and Ravage every Dreamer they can find. So the city is being stripped of creativity and hope, and Eternal Winter is on the way, and everything's peachy!"

  "You know, there's something I've always wanted to ask you Shadow Court guys," Jenny said. "_Why_ do you want to bring about an end to Glamour for all eternity, exactly? You'll be destroyed along with the rest of us if that happens. Why do it?"

  "Oh, because that's the absolute last thing we should do," Minnie said.

  Jenny nodded. Doing things because you weren't supposed to was what being Unseelie was all about. It was just that most Unseelie changelings didn't quite take it to its logical extreme in the way the Shadow Court apparently had.

  "Right," she said. "So you really are working for Broch, then? Or is Broch working for you?"

  "Well, sort of," Minnie said. "He's a bit too crazy and unreliable to make a good Shadow Court operative. So we try to help him out when he needs a push in the right direction, but otherwise we stay away. Oh, and we're helping Josey, too."

  "What for?" Jenny said. "You already have your guy on the throne."

  "Yeah, but war is always so much better than peace, suffering-wise," Minnie said. "So we make sure that that rebellion keeps on going, and at the same time we make sure that it never really has a chance of succeeding. So we get lots of people hacking each other to pieces and using up even _more_ precious Glamour that they'll have to replace in any way they can, and everything just gets worse and worse, forever. Neat, huh?"

  "I feel sick," Jenny said flatly.

  Minnie beamed.

  "_Thanks_!" she said. "We work really hard to be this horrible!"

  "So how much do Josey and Broch know?" Jenny said.

  "Just that we're helping them," Minnie said. "They both know that we're up to something – I mean, they're not _that_ stupid – but they think they can use us." She giggled. "They're so silly."

  "Right…" Jenny said. "What about Jameel, out of curiosity?"

  Minnie shrugged.

  "He's ours. We taught him some of our secrets, so he doesn't get to walk away. Sorry, there really isn't any big secret or anything there."

  "So what are you going to do with him if he comes for me?" Jenny said. "Big if, mind you. He's not an idiot. He knows there's no way you're letting me go."

  "Oh, we'll lock him up and torture him for a couple of weeks," Minnie said cheerfully. "Just to get his attention. After that, we'll put him through some proper indoctrination. It was naughty of him to run away, but it was nice of him to run away _here_, because right now I don't think there's a single place in the kingdom where we're more powerful."

  Jenny couldn't restrain a shudder, which of course put a look of almost innocent delight on the bitch's face.

  "That _scares_ you!" Minnie said. "Oh, that's right – the only thing that scares a Fiona Sidhe is a threat to one of her lovers, isn't it?"

  Jenny didn't answer.

  "Want me to tell you of a few things we're going to do to him?" Minnie said. "Jax can do these really _fascinating_ things with nothing more than a kitchen knife!"

  "Stop it," Jenny growled.

  "And we'll make you watch," Minnie said. "You'll get to hear every scream. You'll get to watch every cut. Aren't you _lucky_?"

  Jenny closed her eyes.

  "I'm going to kill you," she said between her teeth, trying to keep her voice from shaking – and failing. "If it's the last thing I do, I'm going to see you dead on the ground."

  Minnie threw her head back and laughed like that was the best joke she had ever heard.

  Icespire was getting to Jenny. She felt colder by the minute.


	16. Chapter 16

_Author's note: I am so entirely made of fail that even when I write the chapters ahead of time, I don't get around to updating. Oh well. This means that there will be an additional update in January, I guess, free of charge._

Defeat the villains. Rescue the girl. Save the day.

Well, how hard could it be if idiot Trolls could manage to do it?

Jameel, hurrying through the woods towards the Glade of Dancing leaves, had a feeling that it might prove very hard indeed. He had some Glamour, and all sorts of interesting cantrips to put it to good use with, but he had never been much of a fighter. Usually he got through tight situations on reflexes, panic and improvisation. Now he had to plan, and he was finding he wasn't very good at it.

There were all sorts of people he could go to, in theory. Broch would want his knight back. Josey had promised to help him with Jax. Hell, he could even have gone to the police, like Roland had suggested.

But Broch and the police were both too official, too heavy-handed – if he could convince either of them to help, they'd go into Icespire guns blazing, and that would get Jenny killed. Josey might be able to put together something circumspect, but Jameel didn't dare ask him for help in rescuing a ducal knight. It might lead to inconvenient questions of who had rescued said ducal knight the _last_ time she had been imprisoned somewhere.

No, he had to do this himself, and he was pretty sure that the plan he had come up with was incredibly stupid and he was going to get himself killed. All the sacrifices his family had made for him would have been in vain. His parents would curse his name until the day they died. But what choice did he have, at this point? The only option was to join the Shadow Court, and he wasn't even sure that _was_ an option anymore. There was no real reason to believe that they genuinely wanted him as an operative now that he had proven himself treacherous. They might just want to screw with him as much as possible before they killed him.

He probably couldn't save either Jenny or himself. But he hoped that if he tried his hardest, he might be able to save his soul. It didn't seem like too much to ask.

It probably was, though.

He reached a beaten path and turned onto it. Navigating in the Glade of Dancing Leaves was easy enough, once its liege-lord had accepted you. He just had to get in, take what he had come for, and get out before anyone noticed him and asked him what he was doing, because then he would have to come up with an excuse, and that felt beyond him at the moment.

He followed the path as it winded through the snow-clad forest, carefully crossed a stream on a bridge of slippery stepping-stones, hurried past the crumbling skeleton of a lightning-scorched oak…

… and heard a child crying to the side of the path.

Jameel hesitated. He didn't have time to stop, not even for a second. But he had spent most of his life taking care of younger siblings, and he was physically incapable of ignoring a weeping kid. Grimacing and cursing himself, he turned off the path, taking a few steps into the forest at its side.

A little girl sat under a tree, hugging her knees and crying like her heart was about to break. Jameel knelt down in front of her.

"Hey," he said. "What's wrong? Are you lost?"

The little girl raised her tear-streaked face. Jameel realised with a start that she was Malenna.

"Your Grace!" he said, quickly bowing his head. "I, I apologise for my boldness! I will leave you alone immediately!"

"N-no apology is necessary," Malenna said, trying to sound formal even though her voice trembled. "Your name is… Jameel Johnson, isn't it? You're my court Soothsayer."

"Yes, your Grace," Jameel said uncomfortably.

Malenna tried to wipe away her tears. She did it gracefully, with slow strokes of her small fingers, but new tears were already appearing in her eyes and threatening to spill over.

"I have been… informed," she said, "that my benefactor Josey is unconvinced that I am the true heir to the duchy's throne."

"Oh," Jameel said. "So… he's threatening not to support you anymore?"

"No." Malenna shook her head and sniffled. "He wants me on the throne. But he is not certain that it is mine by right. What is more, he… he doesn't care." She closed her eyes, trembling with her efforts to maintain as much decorum as she could. "He says that anyone is better than Broch, so since no one knows who the real heir is, he might as well put me on the throne." She started sobbing again. "B-b-b-but I don't _want_ to take the throne if I'm not the rightful Duchess! I just want to do what is right and… and _p-p-proper_!"

Jameel nodded miserably. He wanted to hug her and tell her that everything was going to be all right. What else did you do with sad little girls? But _Kinain_ did not touch fae nobles without permission, and he didn't think anything would be all right, not for any of them.

"Then my advice is that you first find out if you are the Duchess or not," he said. "The heir of Drackus is supposed to be the daughter of Drackus' fae aspect, right? Not a child he had during his last incarnation, but the reincarnation of one he had back in the times of legend, when he was pure fae."

"Yes," Malenna said.

"Do _you_ think that that's you?" Jameel said. "Some changelings remember their past lives. Do you have any idea whether Drackus was your father?"

"No," Malenna said. "I remember nothing of my past lives."

"All right, then," Jameel said. "Then I suppose it's down to the ultimate test, your Grace. You need to find out if you can wield Storm's Voice. It's what it's for, isn't it? To determine the true Duke or Duchess, by making it so that that is the only person who can even lift it."

"Storm's Voice has gone missing," Malenna said. "It disappeared at the same time the Duke died."

"Then you must find it," Jameel said. "It will settle the matter, once and for all. Do you have any idea how it could go missing? Does Josey know?"

"He… suspects," Malenna said. She had stopped crying, though wet trails still ran down her cheeks. "He thinks that before his death, Duke Drackus created a chimerical simulacrum of himself – an artificial being with his shape and part of his mind, sufficiently similar to him that it could carry Storm's Voice. He wished for the ducal blade to be beyond Broch's influence in the months to come."

Jameel whistled.

"Clever Duke Drackus," he said. "Well, you must find this simulacrum, your Grace. It is the only way to be sure whether you are the rightful heir or not."

Malenna nodded.

"I shall do just that," she said. "Will you help me?"

"I wish I could," Jameel said. He sighed. "But I'm not sure I'm going to even be alive at the end of the day."

"Oh," Malenna said. "Can I help you in any way?"

"I don't think so," Jameel said. "Thank you for asking, your Grace." He paused, and then, hating himself for taking advantage of a little girl who was having a rough time, he added, "I will need to take something out of Josey's treasury, though. If someone catches me doing it, may I say I took it on your orders?"

Malenna made a slight nod.

"You may," she said.

"Thank you," Jameel said. He got to his feet and bowed. "If I do survive," he said, feeling that he must offer her something, "I will come back and help you search for the Drackus-chimera."

"Thank you," Malenna said. "You have my blessings in your own quest, my Soothsayer."

Feeling guiltier than ever, Jameel went back to the path and continued towards the cavern that served as Josey's treasury.

---

Forty-five minutes later, he had gotten what he had came for and returned to the city, where he was knocking on a door he really wished he could have stayed away from.

After a few moments, Bob opened it and gave Jameel that look of benevolent confusion that Jameel was starting to think was Bob's default expression.

"Oh. Hey," he said.

"I need help," Jameel said. "It's about Jenny."

Bob hesitated, then opened the door wider to let Jameel in.

"What's wrong with Jenny?" he said.

"Some people captured her," Jameel said. "Enemies."

Bob nodded slowly as he closed the door.

"Elves?" he said.

"Er…" Jameel considered explaining the intricacies of Kith to Bob while his time limit was ticking away. He decided against it. "Something like that, yeah."

"So we have to go save her?" Bob said. "Only I'm not sure how good I'd be at fighting elves…"

Jameel looked him in the eye.

"You're still Enchanted, aren't you?" he said. "Because if you're taking it this calmly without help, you're really weird."

"I still have that colours-are-way-too-bright thing going," Bob said. "If that counts."

"Well, you won't have to fight anyone," Jameel said. "It's not your help I want." He took a deep breath and forced himself to say it – to admit that he had sunk so low that he now was all but making a _habit_ out of exploiting little girls. "I need Marie to help me."

Bob scowled.

"I'm _not_ letting you take Marie to fight elves," he said. "I'm sure that's not safe for kids."

"She won't have to fight anyone either," Jameel said. "She won't have to leave the apartment. And she won't come to any harm. Please? It's Jenny."

Bob hesitated, then nodded.

"Okay," he said. "If you promise it's safe."

"I do," Jameel said, painfully aware that he was lying, a little. Everything had a price. Marie would be low on Glamour for days to come if he made her do this for him – tired and sad and dull. But she _would_ get over it, and with lives on the line…

Bob led him into the kitchen. Marie was sitting at the table, drawing. She looked up and beamed at them when they entered.

"Jameel!" she said.

"Hey, Marie," Jameel said, smiling weakly.

"Are you here to show me more magic?" Marie said.

"As a matter of fact, yes," Jameel said. He took the thing he had borrowed from Josey's treasury out of his cloak pocket and held it up. "Can you see this?"

Marie nodded.

"It's a big, shiny, green stone," she said. "On a gold chain."

"That's right," Jameel said. "It's called the Gem of Terror. It's magic."

"Cool!" Marie said. She reached out her hands for the Gem, and Jameel let her take it. She studied it, delighted. "What does it do?"

"When it is worn by a Dreamer," Jameel said, shame aching in his chest, "it makes her nightmares real."

Marie's smile faded, and she viewed the Gem of Terror with some concern.

"I don't think that's very nice magic," she said, her voice hinting that Jameel had been a very pleasant acquaintance so far, but now he was making her uncomfortable, so she'd really like it if he could go back to being nice again, please. Jameel hated himself intensely.

"It's not dangerous to the one who wears it," he said. "The nightmares it creates has to do what she says. And I _need_ a nightmare to do what I say right now. Will you create one for me? Please?"

Marie chewed on her lower lip.

"What do you need a nightmare for?" she said. "Wouldn't a nice dream be better?"

"No, you see," Jameel said, "remember that evil girl I told you about? The one who shouldn't have been my girlfriend?"

Marie nodded.

"Well, she's taken Jenny captive," Jameel said. "And I'm afraid she's doing something bad to her, so I need to scare her into letting her go. But she's not scared of me. I need to show her a nightmare."

"And then she'll let Jenny go?" Marie said. "The pretty lady with the funny ears?"

"Her, yes," Jameel said. "And yes, I hope so."

Marie gave off a sigh that was older than her modest years.

"I'll try," she said. "What do I have to do?"

"Put the Gem around your neck," Jameel said. "And think about the scariest thing you can come up with."

"Are you _sure_ this is safe?" Bob said suspiciously.

"Absolutely," Jameel said, wondering if he was in fact damning his soul faster the harder he tried to save it. This was _wrong_.

But if he changed his mind now and walked out of here without a savage chimerical companion at his side, there would be nothing left for him to do but to go and hand himself over to Jax's and Minnie's tender mercies. He couldn't. He just _couldn't_.

With unsteady hands, Marie put the Gem of Terror around her neck.


	17. Chapter 17

Jenny had been sleeping, or at least floating in some kind of feverish mix between sleep and waking, partly aware of the noises of Icespire around her, partly convinced that they were all part of a bad dream. The wound in her stomach wasn't aching so much anymore, at least – either the cold had numbed it, or her body had just decided that things weren't going to get better just because it kept complaining.

While she had been out, someone had put a tray with a bowl of watery gruel inside the cell door. That meant that she had missed a chance to incinerate a few evil sons of bitches without the cold iron bars being in the way, but on the bright side, it meant that there was food. She crawled over to the trey and started eating. It didn't taste like much, but at least it was warm.

_This is hopeless,_ she thought. _No plans, no friends, no weapons, no chance. I wonder if I can get them to kill me somehow? At least that'd deprive them of the pleasure of doing it nice and slow…_

Still, she doubted that Jax was dumb enough to let that happen. Even that miserable choice was denied her.

She might as well curl up in some corner and try to go back to sleep. She looked around the cell to see if any of the corners looked more inviting than the others. None of them did, but one of them had a sword lying in it.

Jenny blinked and took a second look. Yes. Definitely a sword. What was more, it was a familiar sword.

Slowly, as if she was afraid that a hasty motion would make the thing burst like a soap bubble, she reached out and picked up the dark leather sheathe. The sword hilt sticking out of it was black, with the hilt shaped like a dragon, its head forming the pommel. Jenny ran her fingers over it in wonder.

_Sauraq._ _It's Sauraq. It's not just a sword, it's _my _sword._

She closed her hand around the hilt, relishing the familiar feel of it. With this sword, she had killed the Ogre of Mousepool. With this sword, she had fought the dragon Galnisuur to a standstill. She hadn't realised how diminished, how _incomplete_ she had felt without it until this moment.

She got to her feet, wincing at the pain but with no intentions of letting it stop her. She felt a grin forming on her lips.

_Hell. At least this way, I can make damn sure they won't get me alive._

She drew the sword, rammed it into the space between the cell door and the bars and twisted. There was resistance, but the bars were cold iron – soft, malleable, easy to bend – and she had always been strong.

The noise of the metal protesting as she bent it out of shape made the guards get up and take notice, but too late, much too late. The hinges of the door snapped from a final strain of effort, and Lady Mennavere the Mauler stepped out of the cell.

The first guard came at her with a poleaxe, but Jenny slipped to the side and lopped his head off with a single stroke. Two other guards followed, shorter axes raised, but one of them burst into flame from a single snarled word from Jenny, and the other lost his axe, his arm, his head and his life in quick succession – and now the other guards were fleeing, running from her and screaming for reinforcements…

Jenny looked up at the ceiling, from which she had hung suspended as recently as two days ago. She looked down to the bonfires burning beneath. She felt light-headed with blood-loss and triumph, and somehow she knew that this was a focus point, a moment of Glamour surging that came by only rarely and could be utilised even more rarely. This moment, she could do things that would be impossible for her any other time.

She raised her arms to the sky, the black sword in her hand running with Redcap blood, and she recited a long verse of vengeance and justice. Her voice rose with every word, until finally she was screaming out the last few syllables, her fury echoing through the entire dark Freehold.

Icespire caught fire.

It was made of ice, of course, but it was chimerical ice, subject more to the laws of drama than to the laws of physics. And so it burned, even as it melted, the whole citadel moaning in agony.

The entire building wasn't burning – there were still open areas where the flames hadn't reached, and the Redcaps that weren't rolling around in agony, trying to put out the fire in their clothes and hair, were quickly fleeing along them, screaming and swearing all the while. But the fire was growing quickly, expanding out of the bonfires and climbing up the walls. Huge chunks of flame-enveloped ice started crashing down to the floor, shattering there and spreading more fires.

Jenny walked through the inferno in a calm pace, stopping only to dispatch a few more Redcaps that attacked her in fury or desperation. She looked around for Jax, but she didn't seem him. She hoped he had burned to ashes somewhere, but somehow she doubted it. Whatever else Jax was, he was strong in Glamour – the Dreaming would not allow him to die a meaningless, unnoticed death.

She walked through the crumbling corridor leading from the main hall to the gates, glancing nervously at the walls all the while – _she_ was quite weak in Glamour, and the Dreaming might not be able to save her from being buried by a ton of ice just when she was at the brink of freedom – but she reached the gates without incident and stepped out.

Jameel was standing on the street outside, his eyes wide, looking from the burning Freehold to the Redcaps fleeing down the street from it and back again. Then he caught sight of her and looked even more stunned. Jenny imagined herself from his perspective; stepping out of the inferno, covered in blood and gore, a black sword in her hand and a savage grin on her lips.

"Er… hello," Jameel said.

"Hey," Jenny said.

There was a pause.

"I'm here to save you," Jameel said weakly.

"Well, it's the thought that counts," Jenny said. She staggered, barely staying upright. "But if you want to help, your ex gave me a pretty nasty wound that I wouldn't mind if you healed."

"Oh! Of course!" Jameel hurried over to her, pressed his lips against hers and exhaled slowly into her mouth. Jenny felt a warm, soothing sensation in her stomach, and the pain faded away to the point that when Jameel stepped back from her again, it had receded to an uncomfortable stiffness.

Jenny licked her lips.

"So…" she said. "That was, what? One third cantrip, one third 'oh God, I thought I'd never see you again,' and one third 'watch how I get myself some free smoochies,' right?"

"Eh… well…" Jameel said, grinning sheepishly.

Jenny put her free hand behind his head and pulled him in for a much longer and more seriously meant kiss. She felt _good_. She had slaughtered her way through a swarm of enemies who had thought that they had had her exactly where they wanted her. She had single-handedly brought down a den of darkness and villainy. She was so full of Glamour that her skin tingled with it. What she wanted more than anything at the moment was to drag Jameel off to somewhere private and celebrate her blood-soaked victory in traditional Fiona fashion.

But, she admitted reluctantly, there were more important matters to attend to first.

"Did you see Big Brian run out?" she said.

"Er, no," Jameel said. "I think I would have noticed him." He glanced at the burning ice citadel, going down in flames only steps away from passer-bys who noticed nothing amiss. "You think he got stuck in there?"

"I think he was out before it started," Jenny said.

_I told him that if I died in that cell, he'd never know who of us would win in a fight. I was just… I don't know, making small talk, or teasing him, or something. But he decided he couldn't live without knowing it, didn't he? He put Sauraq in my cell, and then he legged it…_

She grinned to herself. Doing random things without having a plan was still working out for her, apparently. Of course, this meant that Big Brian would now be lying in wait for her somewhere down the road, but that she could deal with once she got there…

She felt a push, and something rushed past her, something she couldn't see. She felt a whiff of perfume, though, and realised who it was.

"Come back here, you bitch!" she yelled, raising the sword – but Minnie was past her, and Jenny had no idea where the Satyr had gone under the cover of her invisibility.

"Catch her!" Jameel commanded.

Jenny turned to him to tell him that he could damn well do it himself, and to watch who he tried to give orders, but the next second something… emerged… from the pavement a few steps away, something huge and white and plastic. It looked a little like a robot, all sharp angles and clumsy joints, but bloodshot eyes stared out from a narrow gap in the facial mask, human and hateful. The huge creature – it was at least teen feet tall – held something out in its monstrous hand, and after a moment Minnie became visible, dangling from her furry ankle, the top of her head just touching the pavement.

"Let me _go_!" she shrieked. People on the street were giving her odd looks – from their perspective, she was standing on her head in the middle of the sidewalk, complaining for no apparent reason. "Jameel! Jameel, make it let me go or I'll make your life a living hell!"

"Oh, shut up," Jameel said.

"What the hell is that thing?" Jenny said.

"It's Maurader," Jameel said miserably. "It was part of my brilliant plan to rescue you. Don't worry, he has to do what I tell him. I hope."

"See, that bit about 'I hope' sort of cancelled out the 'don't worry,'" Jenny said. She snorted. "But okay, cool. We've got our own personal giant chimera slave. And we've got ourselves a prisoner. And Jax has lost a bunch of his flunkies and his base of operation. I think we're actually ahead of the game for once."

Jameel gave her a morose look.

"You're thinking that that probably means that there's something even worse in store for us, aren't you?" Jenny said.

"Well, that's usually how it works," Jameel said.

Jenny made a face at him.

Behind them, Icespire burned.


	18. Chapter 18

_Author's note: I'm losing interest in this story, I'm very sorry to say. Which means that it's time to head towards the endgame. There will be something like eight or nine more chapters – this batch and one more – and then the story will be done, hopefully without completely betraying whatever promise it might have had._

---

"Okay, Minnie…" Jenny said, and then broke off.

Minnie was sitting in the cell in the Solitary Tower that had until a few days ago held Malenna. The hatch in the door was open, so Jenny and Jameel had a full view of the evil Satyr where she sat sullenly on the too-small bed. She should be harmless, Jenny hoped – she had strip-searched Minnie herself, and there didn't seem to be any knives or vials of poison upon her person. And Jameel had said that she couldn't do anything fancy like teleport or create doors.

Jenny gave her a look under a furrowed brow.

"Seriously, by the way?" she said. "'Minnie'? What sort of name is that for a Shadow Court operative? Shouldn't it be something like 'Blood Eagle' or 'Belladonna'? I mean, if I was a force of seductive evil wearing way too much make-up, you wouldn't catch me calling myself 'Minnie.'"

Minnie gave her a look of cool disdain that Jenny had to admit was very well executed. Most Unseelie Wilders aspired to that look of haughty petulance, but Minnie had it down to the eleventh degree.

"Says the knight calling herself Jenny," she said.

"Point…" Jenny said.

"You could at least go with 'Jennifer,'" Jameel suggested. "I think I'd listen to the tales of the breathtaking adventures of Lady Jennifer without feeling weird about it."

"It's 'Gwendolyn,' actually," Jenny said. "Don't ask me, it wasn't my idea." She shook her head. "Okay, we're getting off track here. Where was I? Oh, right." She pointed a dramatic finger at Minnie. "Foul knave! Tell me what mischief your villainous ilk seeks to wreak within this innocent demesne!"

"Bite me," Minnie said sanguinely.

Jenny took a deep breath.

"**I command thee to speak**," she said, "**in the names of Halazad, Alkazad, Kalahaz…**"

Minnie blew her a raspberry.

"That doesn't work on her," Jameel said. "Remember?"

"Yeah, I just refuse to accept it on general principle!" Jenny said, folding her arms and pouting. "What's the point of being a badass faerie noble if any old commoner can just countermand your divine commandments?"

"Ah, yes." Minnie leaned back against the wall, hands behind her head. "That's what I love about you Fiona bitches. You come off as all liberal and laid-back, but the moment one of the little people won't treat you like your shit doesn't stink, you get just as pissed as any of the other Sidhe cunts."

"Do you have any Dark Arts that can counteract my boot heading up your ass?" Jenny said. "Because if you don't, you should think about being less lippy!"

Minnie shrugged.

"Not my fault if you can't handle the truth."

"Give me a break," Jameel said. "This isn't about class. You kill and torture commoners just as happily as you do nobles."

"Well. Yeah. Pretty much." Minnie smirked. "But it's not like their lives are so great or anything. They're already fucked, they just won't see it. They strut around thinking that they're happy, all while the nobles have got their feet squarely on their necks. We just make sure that they have to stop lying to themselves about what a miserable piece of shit world they live in, and then we put them out of their misery." She shook her head. "You know, it's sad. You used to get all this. Now look at you, turned into a Sidhe bitch's bootlicker."

Jenny glanced at Jameel. He looked a bit guilty.

"Really?" Jenny said.

"Well, not the part about killing and torturing," Jameel said. "But when you grow up knowing that you're the lowest of the low, you get angry. Angry at the people in charge, and angry at the people who aren't in charge but who're perfectly okay with being under someone else's heel as long as that means they get to keep you under theirs. People like Mercher, sucking up and stomping down…"

Jenny hesitated. She felt that she was on unsteady ground here, and that wasn't very usual for her. She was used to setting her eyes firmly on the goal and then barging ahead and hoping for the best, and never mind what stumbling blocks might be ahead.

"Yeah, but it's not just one way," she said. "Or it's not supposed to be. The nobles have to care for their commoners. They obey us, we protect them. That's the feudal system." She considered. "I'm not sure where _Kinain_ fit into that, I admit, but…"

"We don't," Jameel said, not accusingly but frankly. "Neither do ordinary mortals. We're not part of your system, because we're _beneath notice_."

Jenny bit her lip. _Aoch_.

"You look pretty noticeable to me," she said. It felt a little weak to her, because she couldn't remember the last time she had given a thought to how _Kinain_ were feeling in the face of changeling superiority. For the most parts, _Kinain_ had always just been there, and she'd treated them like anyone else.

_I never claimed that thinking was my strong suit…_ she thought. _I'd never let anyone under my care get mistreated. Isn't that enough?_

"I know." Jameel smiled weakly. "But the system is still the system, you know? It's gotten worse under Broch, but it was already there under Drackus – and it was the same back home, too."

Jenny gave him a look.

"So it's _our_ fault that people get seduced into the Shadow Court?" she said.

"Well, no," Jameel said, cringing a little under her glare. "I mean, if they didn't have that, they'd just find something else that people were angry about and use that to draw them in. I'm just trying to explain why they sounded good to _me_, before they got around to mentioning the whole 'raping, torturing and murdering' aspect…"

Jenny glared at him some more, just because he had made her feel guilty, and normally guilt just didn't happen to her. Self-contempt yes, guilt no.

"He's got a point," Minnie said helpfully. "We'll always have more recruits for our quest to destroy the world, because the world is always going to suck. You can't make the world _not_ suck. You can move around the very few redeeming features a little, but in the end, there just aren't enough of them to cover all the sucking. Nope, sorry. The world needs to go."

"Look, it may suck, but it's my world and you're not ending it on my watch!" Jenny said, grateful for a chance to turn her ire against someone she was perfectly comfortable about being mad at. "Tell me what Jax will do next, or I'll send in Maurader to have a talk with you!"

The huge, plastic creature shuffled its big, flat feet in anticipation when it heart its name mentioned. Jameel had told it to go stand by the wall, and it had obeyed the Gem of Terror without any apparent reluctance. Jenny wondered just how sentient it was. Chimera could be tricky, especially ones that had been shaped with the aid of a Treasure by a sorcerer who wasn't skilled enough to shape one on his own yet.

"I don't know, okay?" Minnie said. "You burning down our dark evil stronghold wasn't really listed as a contingency."

"Give us your best conjecture," Jameel suggested.

Minnie winced.

"Okay, fine," she said. "He'll want to kill you both for this. Slowly. Painfully. Creatively."

"Oh, he wanted that anyway!" Jenny said. "You'll have to do better than that!"

"He'll need a new hangout," Minnie said. "Which means that he'll ask either Josey or Broch to let him stay in one of their Freeholds." She considered. "Probably Josey. Broch is too likely to go 'off with their heads!' for no apparent reason, crazy bastard that he is."

"So he'll be in the Glade of Dancing Leaves…" Jameel said. He took a deep, shuddering breath. "Okay, that's it. We're getting Malenna out of there."

"What?" Jenny blinked. "Are we pro-Malenna now? Since when? I didn't get to vote on that!"

"She's a nice kid in a bad situation, and it just got worse," Jameel said. He met Jenny's eyes with a kind of shaky defiance. Jenny suddenly remembered what Jax had done to his younger sister. "We're not leaving her there."

"She's a self-righteous brat," Jenny corrected him, but she didn't manage to put that much conviction into it. Saving damsels in distress was what knights were for, and saving underage damsels just made it even more knightly. And that was what she had set out to do, wasn't it? Remember how to be a true hero?

She sighed.

"Fine," she said. She glanced at the open hatch in the cell door and slammed it shut with a snort. She had had enough of Minnie for now. "I guess we can head over there at daybreak. I don't think the kid will be happy to see me, but I suppose there's nothing to do about that."

Jameel smiled gratefully.

"Thank you," he said, with feeling.

Jenny winced.

"Yeah, well," she said. "I told you, nobles are supposed to protect people. It doesn't say anything anywhere about only protecting people who aren't brats."

Jameel hugged her. Jenny grudgingly hugged back.

"So," she said when they parted a little again. She glanced at the cell door. "Want to have sex right outside her room?"

"Errrr…" Jameel said.

"I'll be loud," Jenny promised. "I'll make it very obvious to her that you're giving a girl multiple orgasms, and if she wasn't such an evil bitch, that girl could be her."

"I'm not sure I actually know how to give someone multiple orgasms," Jameel said dubiously. "In fact, it's kind of touch and go even on the first one, so far…"

"It takes some practice," Jenny agreed. "I'll teach you, though. It'll be fun."

Jameel grinned wryly.

"I don't think she'll be especially crushed by hearing us," he said. "She'll probably just mock me for it the next chance she gets."

Jenny raised an eyebrow.

"You've really got 'victim' written all over you, haven't you?" she said.

"What?" Jameel said.

"_Think_ about what you just said," Jenny said. "You're saying the bitch would _mock _you for banging a hot chick with big breasts. And I just bet she would, because she knows that she really _could_ make you feel bad about yourself." She punched him on the arm. "You know what you need? Some testosterone-induced stupidity. I don't usually approve of guys having too much of that, but you have much too little of it."

"Uhm," Jameel said. He didn't look very reassured by her pep talk. In fact, he looked like he wondered if he should break and run. Jenny winced. Honestly, sometimes he was such a wuss.

"What you need to do is temporarily switch control of your thought process from your brain to your libido," Jenny said firmly. She put her hands on his shoulders and gave them a reassuring squeeze. "Come on. You can do it. Your naughty bits _want_ to do your thinking for you. It's what they do. You just have to _let_ them."

"This is the most uncomfortable conversation I have ever had in my life," Jameel said, deadpan. "And I've had at least one conversation where I had to explain to my parents why an insane faerie was out to kill me."

"Well, that just goes to prove my point," Jenny said. "Your brain is embarrassed." She glanced down to the crotch of Jameel's jeans, and leered. Something was definitely happening in there. "A certain other part of you, however, thinks that this sounds just fine. That's the one you should listen to."

Jameel opened his mouth to protest, but before he got a chance, Jenny smoothly took one step closer, ending up gently pressed against him. She could feel his chest rise and fall with breathing that was suddenly laboured. She could feel the heat of his body, which she was pretty sure was rising quickly at the moment. For that matter, she could feel something else rising, down against her hip.

"I'm sorry, what were you going to say?" she whispered huskily.

Jameel gulped.

"So… just switch control of my thought process, right?" he said in a strained voice.

"That's right," Jenny said. "So what's your libido thinking right now?"

"Er…" Jameel struggled. "It's thinking that we're wearing too much clothes."

"Predictable," Jenny said cheerfully. "But not inaccurate." She pulled off his shirt.

As it turned out, he wasn't quite at the level of causing multiple orgasms just yet. But she ended up very much enjoying helping him practice.


	19. Chapter 19

The pale light of the dawn was making the icicles glitter on the trees and turned the untrampled snow at the side of the path into a field of silver. Jameel swept his cloak around him, wondering if they had actually bypassed the guards successfully, or if Josey was just giving him enough rope to hang himself with.

"You're not lost again, are you?" Jenny said cheerfully. She was looking very dashing this morning – they had stopped at Porthos' and gotten her a brand new suit of armour, and she kept her hand firmly on Sauraq's hilt while she walked. The combination made her look like she was standing taller, shrouded in Glamour and confidence. She looked very much like a knight, and very much like she could take on the entire world all at once.

"No, just trying to figure out where we should go from here…" Jameel said. He was finding it a little hard to think with her this close. It didn't matter that the armour was completely functional and obscured her figure – the complete opposite to the kind of chain mail bikinis that you saw in stupid cartoons – he still remembered all too vividly what Jenny's body looked like underneath all those layers of steel and padding. And felt like. And smelled like. And…

He took a deep breath of the frigid air and tried to get a grip of himself.

_You can't be in love with this girl, Johnson,_ he told himself. _You know that, don't you? Because she isn't the least bit in love with you. She likes you, sure, but she's not that into you._

It was sad but true, that last bit. Jameel had a lifetime of experience with girls not being that into him, and he knew exactly what it looked like. And from what he could tell, Jenny was at least partly sleeping with him in order to prove some sort of point – to demonstrate the accuracy of Fiona philosophy or something. She had told him that everyone was desirable, and then she had proven it by desiring him. Possibly it made sense, if you were a changeling.

Which meant that he was getting a more high-brown version of a pity-fuck, when it came right down to it. Not that he was complaining. If he had to be pitiful, he might as well get some sort of perks out of it.

"Are you sure you can't call up a wisp?" he said. "It'd really help."

"The dimensions around here are too screwy for that," Jenny said. "Ever since Josey declared against Broch, it's been turning more and more into a sort of epitome of a rebellion stronghold – all secrets within secrets and hidden places within hidden places. You can find your way out okay, but finding anything inside of it is almost impossible unless you know how things work this week."

Jameel sighed and nodded.

"Well, Malenna might be in a couple of different places," he said. "She could be in the main glade, along with Josey and a bunch of his people. Or she could be sleeping in, in which case she'd be in the pavilions. Or she could have gone off somewhere to be alone, and in that case we don't have a freaking clue where she is."

"Still, if she's off somewhere, we'd eventually find her, right?" Jenny said.

Jameel shrugged.

"I guess."

"Then she isn't," Jenny said. "She's in the main glade."

Jameel tried to make sense of that. It proved difficult.

"Okay," he said. "Why?"

"Because that's the last place we want her to be," Jenny said. "Haven't you noticed that everything is always exactly as bad as it could possibly be?"

Jameel gave her a look.

"You've been hanging around me too much," he said. "I'm starting to rub off on you."

"No, I just know how these things work," Jenny said. "The Dark Lord never makes a mistake while learning how to handle his doomsday-Treasure and blows himself up. No, he always manages to get it to work, against all odds, so that you have to head over to his castle and risk life and limb to defeat him. It's just not _dramatic_ if things go easier than expected."

Jameel stared at her for a moment, expressionless.

"What?" Jenny said.

"You know," Jameel said, "sometimes I wonder what it's like, being a faerie. I mean, do the things you say actually make sense to you, or do you just say it to confuse people?"

He had expected Jenny to either get annoyed with that comment or make some kind of wry remark. Instead, she seemed to give the question due consideration.

"Well, it's kind of both at once," she said. "Because of the way that the Autumn World and the Dreaming overlap, you know? The Dreaming runs on story logic, and the parts of the Autumn World that are shadowed by the Dreaming do too. And those parts expand if enough people _believe_ in the story logic, so…" She shrugged. "Half of it is just knowing that it's true, and the other half is knowing that if you make others believe in it, it'll become even truer."

Jameel stared.

"What?" Jenny said. She made a face. "I'm faerie nobility, okay? They make us study gremayre during our Fostering. Some of it tends to stick, even when you spend most of the lessons daydreaming about boys."

Jameel sighed and raised his hands.

"Right," he said. "Okay, so the main glade it is…"

***

The main glade was a lot more sombre than the last time Jameel had seen it. There were no sign of the festivities from two days ago – instead, the sound of hammers on steel rang out from two makeshift forges that had been set up outside of the wagons, and some of the Wildlings were feathering arrows. To one side of the meadow, Old Josey was standing by a table with a map on it, discussing something with a severe-looking Sidhe man in a high collar.

The two man strong third side in the civil war lurked among the bushes, surveying the situation.

"There's Malenna," Jenny said. "Over by the balefire. She isn't looking too happy."

Jameel looked over to the smouldering bonfire in the centre of the glade. Malenna was indeed sitting on one of the log benches next to it, staring into the flames and looking morose.

"So how do we do this?" Jenny said. "Do we rush in, swords slashing, and take her?"

"I hate that plan," Jameel said flatly.

"Somehow I thought you would," Jenny said. He thought he could detect a slight smirk in her voice. "Especially since you don't really have a sword."

"There is that, certainly."

"You should get one," Jenny said. "You'd look very dashing with one." She looked thoughtful. "I'm thinking one of those Eshu cutlasses, with a dark gold grip and a bluish tint to the steel, possibly with a dark sapphire in the hilt…"

Jameel gave her a nonplussed look.

"Only you would make a lethal weapon out to be some kind of fashion accessory."

Jenny made a face at him.

"Hey, kicking ass and looking fabulous doing it is practically the Fiona creed! But if you don't like that sort of thing, well, you're still the court Soothsayer, aren't you? Go in there and fetch her all discreet-like."

"Somehow I don't like that plan either," Jameel said.

"Well, you've got a difficult choice ahead of you then, bucko," Jenny said, "because I'm going to count to three, and then I'm charging in and dying heroically. One. Two."

Jameel groaned but emerged from the bushes and headed into the glade.

He didn't get grabbed and thrown in the Pools immediately, which was a bit of a relief. He made his way over the snow-clad ground, sweeping his cloak around him and trying to look like a real sorcerer instead of just a _Kinain_ pretender. A few of the Wildlings noticed him, but did nothing more aggressive than wave. Their slight attention still made Jameel want to whimper.

He knelt down next to Malenna, who had looked up dully at his approach.

"Your Grace?" Jameel said. "Are you all right?"

"I am quite well, thank you," Malenna said in a small, unconvincing voice.

Jameel looked around, but no one seemed to be watching him. Apparently his presence here really was seen as unremarkable. Which meant that Josey had been sincere in giving him the position as court Soothsayer.

In a weird sort of way, that actually gave Jameel a warm, flattered feeling inside. Okay, so the approval of an arrogant ass who thought he could play the Shadow Court might not be the greatest personal endorsement you could get, but still, a compliment was a compliment…

"Can I give you some advice?" he said. "As your, well, advisor?"

Malenna nodded warily.

"Speak," she said.

"Josey has allied himself with a very evil man," Jameel said. "A Shadow Court agent. And he's likely to be coming to stay in the Glade. You're not safe here anymore, your Grace."

Malenna nodded slowly. Jameel couldn't help but be struck by the seriousness on her face – not the kind of childish earnestness that you'd expect from a little girl playing at being a Duchess, but the calm calculation of someone who understood both evil and danger.

Jameel bit his lip. When he had found her yesterday, she had been weeping and heartbroken. It had been easy to think of her as a little girl then. But a Childling wasn't really the same as a child, was it…?

"I do not believe that Josey would listen to your concerns," she said.

"No," Jameel said. "No, he probably wouldn't. He'd say that he could guarantee your safety, but…"

"He would be lying," Malenna said. "Just as he lies to everyone else by saying that he knows that I am the Duchess." She sighed. "He has abandoned honour and the Seelie way."

"Yeah," Jameel said. "Yeah, I think he has."

"Even so…" Malenna frowned. "If I am not safe here, where would I be safer? Lord Broch has no love for me. Indeed, I suspect his plans for me were depressingly similar to Josey's – to keep me somewhere safe in case he ever needed a plausible puppet to proclaim as the heir. I have no true friends in this duchy, my Soothsayer."

"Then you have to leave the duchy." Jameel didn't know where that idea had come from, but as soon as he said it, he realised the sense of it. In fact, he also realised something else. "You have to appeal for help from the Queen of Apples."

Malenna gave him a probing look.

"Could I do that?" she said.

"Well, you are the Duchess of Howling Winds, as far as anyone knows," Jameel said. "You're entitled to ask the Queen to settle a dispute. Josey and Broch don't want to do that, either of them, because it would prove that whoever ended up on top wasn't strong enough to get there by themselves but had to be put there by the Queen. That won't give them much credibility with the other Dukes after their proper reign begins. And, actually, that would be bad for the duchy. But…" He shrugged and gestured around him. "I think we're beyond worrying about that sort of thing now. If this civil war goes on, I'm not sure there's going to be a duchy much longer."

Malenna rubbed her chin.

"But if I am in fact not the Duchess of Howling Winds," she said, "then I do not, in fact, have a right to approach the Queen in this matter, do I?"

Jameel felt a strong need to pound his head against the wall over the stubborn unhelpfulness of people who refused to be pragmatic. He wondered faintly if that was how Roland felt _all the time_.

"If you are not the Duchess," he said, "and no one has actually proven that you're not, then there might not in fact be a Duchess of Howling Winds right now. Perhaps she was killed or Undone. Perhaps she has yet to go through her Chrysalis. In that case, the Queen needs to step in and appoint a better Lord Regent than Broch, before an entire duchy of her kingdom dies from misrule. And as a noble of the realm, you can request an audience to appeal for her to do that, can't you?"

"I have the right to ask to speak with the Queen," Malenna said slowly, "this is true…"

"Come with me," Jameel said, "and we'll visit the Queen together. That's my advice."

Malenna considered, then nodded and got to her feet.

"Let us go," she said.

Jameel gratefully got up and walked with her towards the edge of the glade. He couldn't help but feeling a bit uncomfortable about the prospect of essentially kidnapping a little girl – it had all sorts of unpleasant connotations to it.

The next moment, he saw Josey coming towards him and was forced to ponder the unpleasant connotations to being well and thoroughly _busted_.

His first impulse was to throw every cantrip he could think of at Josey and then run away. He quickly reined in that impulse; there were scary rumours going around about Josey's powers, and anyway, any _Kithain_ sorcerer worth his salt could rip apart a _Kinain_'s cantrip with a flick of his finger.

"Jameel," Josey said, smiling amiably. He bowed to Malenna. "Your Grace."

"I require a personal horoscope from my court Soothsayer," Malenna said formally. "We will return in twenty minutes or so."

"Very good, your Grace," Josey said. "If I may only have a word with Mr Johnson first."

Maybe if he struck first, Jameel thought with a panic-numb mind, Josey might not be quick enough to unweave the cantrip while they made their escape? If he could just be made to forget about Jameel's existence for a few minutes…

"W-what can I help you with, sir?" he managed to say, probably sounding as acutely guilty as he felt.

"One of my allies came requesting asylum this morning," Josey said. "Jax. A man that you have had some disagreements with, I understand?"

"He wounded my sister badly enough that it might have killed her, and then held me back when I tried to go to her to heal her," Jameel said, feeling a slight spark of defiance in the frigid chill of terror. "So yes, sir. Some disagreements."

Josey waved that away.

"Now, now, Jameel, let bygones be bygones. And rest assure that I've told Jax the same thing. You are under ducal protection now – if Jax tries to bother you again, he will be dealt with sternly." He studied Jameel for a moment. "Especially since he apparently tried to harass you once already. Tried to hold a certain Sidhe knight ransom to get you to cooperate with him, yes?"

"Uhm, yes," Jameel said. His heart was thumping in his chest. "Obviously, it didn't work. I didn't show up when he told me to."

"Obviously," Josey said smoothly. "Of course, it would have been difficult for you to show up when he told you to, because at the time of your appointed meeting, Icespire was in the process of burning down."

Jameel blinked, trying to look surprised.

"I see," he said blankly.

"Apparently, holding Lady Mennavere prisoner is harder than it looks," Josey said philosophically. "As I myself has found out, in fact, since Jax could never have taken her prisoner if she hadn't first managed to escape from the Pools. Two impossible escapes in two days." He smiled with what seemed like genuine – and slightly libidinous – admiration. "Quite a woman, our Mennavere."

"Well, you know, the Sidhe all get taught lots of gremayre," Jameel said, feeling light-headed with pure, mewling fear. "Some of it's bound to stick, even if you spend the lessons daydreaming about boys…"

"Quite," Josey said with a slight smile. "Well, I won't keep you any longer. Good day to you, your Grace." He bowed to Malenna again and walked away.

Jameel forced himself to walk with slow, unhurried steps towards the tree-line. Something was wrong. He shouldn't have gotten away from that.

_Why_ had he gotten away?

Was he missing something that meant that he hadn't, in fact, gotten away at all…?


	20. Chapter 20

Malenna was sensible enough to remain discreet until they were out of the Glade of Dancing Leaves. After that, however, she exploded.

"You did not tell me that _she_ was with you!" she said accusingly to Jameel.

Jenny glared. Somewhere inside her unsubtle heart, she was actually admiring the way the kid could put that much haughty righteous fury into that squeaky little voice. Irrespectively of whether she was the rightful Duchess or not, she certainly had exceptional bearing – something about the way she carried herself made Jenny's legs want to knee.

"Look, can't we just agree that mistakes were made all around?" she said.

Malenna looked suspiciously at her.

"And what sort of mistakes am I supposed to have made?" she said. "You kidnapped me from the playground…"

"Respectfully apprehended," Jenny corrected him.

"… _kidnapped_ me off the _playground_," Malenna insisted, "and then locked me in your tower for two months! I have made no mistakes, because I have had no chance, so far, to make any sort of choices!"

They were standing at the forest's edge, with the cars heading back and forth on the road some thirty yards away. Jenny would rather have cut all this short and headed for the bus stop before they had to deal with a slew of Wildlings screaming for their blood, but Malenna wouldn't budge, and noble decorum forbid you to throw a fellow Sidhe over your shoulder and carrying her away, no matter how obnoxious she was.

"All right, all right, so mistakes were made mostly on my side," Jenny said. "Can't you just forgive and forget?"

Malenna stabbed her finger into Jenny's breastplate, making a _plonk-plonk_ sound.

"_Never Forget A Debt_!" she snapped. "And the fact that I have to remind you of that is proof of how far you have fallen, Lady Mennavere!"

Jenny sighed. Sometimes she thought that the Seelie Code existed solely to make everything needlessly difficult.

"Look, I know I'm a sucky knight, okay?" she said. She grimaced. "And, yeah, okay, I admit it. Like, for the record. I _shouldn't_ have worked for Broch. I should have broken my Oath if I had to and taken the consequences. I told myself that I was honour-bound to serve him, but that was just because I had forgotten what honour actually _was_."

"I think there was an 'I'm sorry' in there," Jameel offered. "I think you should accept it. It's probably the closest you're going to get."

Both Jenny and Malenna turned to glare at him, making him cower.

"Look, we need to leave town on the double," Jenny said when the feeble male was sufficiently intimidated that she could turn back to Malenna. "I'm not going back to the Solitary Tower – too many scary people know that that's my Freehold. I'll head over to the bus station and get a ticket for the next trip out of here. Jameel can probably get away with packing, though."

"There's a thing or two I'd like to bring, yeah," Jameel said. "You two wait for me at the bus station, and I'll be there in forty-five minutes."

"I'm most certainly not going anywhere alone with her!" Malenna said with dignity. "She is likely to drag me right back to Broch!"

Jameel sighed.

"Then why don't you come with me, your Grace?" he said. "I should warn you, though… when you meet my roommate, there might be some kind of matter-antimatter explosion…"

Jenny shook her head.

"No," she told Malenna, who pointedly ignore her. "I don't know what he's on about half the time, either."

***

The Seelie Code forbade dishonourable behaviour. However, every court in the realm would come to a screeching halt if dishonesty and half-truths had been considered dishonourable. And while Jenny was indeed heading to the bus station, there was somewhere else she needed to be first.

She looked at the door with uncharacteristic apprehension. The last time she had been here, she had almost been Undone. She could still feel the chill in the air from the Banality that had been unleashed, though the last couple of days had made it dissipate like a bad smell.

People thought that House Fiona did not take love and sex seriously – that the Sidhe of the Lion treated them more like toys than like the serious affairs that the other noble Houses saw them as. There, though, they missed an important point – Fiona Sidhe feared nothing, except for danger to a lover. To them, sex meant leaving themselves vulnerable to something that they were otherwise invincible to. Jenny wondered if any of the other Houses understood just how fearsome fear was, to someone who was used to never having to feel it.

The reason why Fiona Sidhe took lovers so easily wasn't that it was a small matter for them. It was because they were Fiona Sidhe, and they conquered all things in the name of passion.

She knocked on the door.

Bob opened it, smiling as he recognised her. The easy pleasure on his face made her feel a small, wistful sting of regret. But this was Dán, and this was the price of passion.

"Oh… hi, Jenny," he said. He opened the door wider and made an inviting motion. "Come on in."

Jenny entered, looking around in the apartment. She'd never been in here, had she? She'd meant to come here and take a look, but Jessie had chased her away the one time she had made it, and anyway, it had been a busy couple of days.

"You know what makes the best stories the best?" she said as she sank down on the comfy, but badly worn and food-stained, couch in the living room.

"Not really," Bob said. "I never really liked stories." He paused for a moment. "Kind of prefer football, actually."

Jenny smiled.

"I _am_ a story," she said. "I kind of have to know how they work."

Bob shrugged amiably.

"Okay," he said. "So what _does_ make the best stories the best?"

"It's that they explore every single angle of every single aspect of themselves," Jenny said. "They develop every character. They make use of every circumstance. If you close the book thinking, 'huh, it'd have been really cool if they'd done _that_,' then the story has failed. You know?"

"Uh… no," Bob said.

"That's okay." Jenny sighed and winced. "It's just my long-winded way of saying that I had wanted – I had planned – to explore you, and this thing between me and you, a lot more than I got around to. I mean…" She smiled and shook her head. "What happened with you and Jessie? What sort of relationship do you and Marie have? The first time we met, you told me that you'd gotten fired for telling the foreman to get bent. And that's _weird_, because you actually come off as really mellow and soft-spoken." She sighed wistfully. "I think it would have been interesting to find out just what your foreman did to deserve that."

"I could tell you right now," Bob suggested.

"Yeah, but you see what I mean," Jenny said. "I feel like I've failed you. I enchanted you, brought you into the chimerical world. You were supposed to have this grand adventure. But in the end, all you did was sleep with me, argue with your wife, and then allow Jameel to use your daughter to create a nightmare-chimera. If I was a better knight, I would have made this more memorable for you – and the story, the story that'll be my redemption story if I'm damn lucky, would have been much better for it."

"Yeah, well," Bob said carefully. "Shit happens, right?" He was quite for a moment. "This is you saying goodbye, huh? As in, for good?"

"Yeah," Jenny said gently. "I'm sorry."

Bob nodded.

"It's been a weird couple of days," he said. "You're telling me that you're sorry that it wasn't more interesting. If this is boring, I'm not sure I want to see interesting."

"Yeah. Well. To each their own." Jenny got up. "Thank you for your help."

"I didn't do much," Bob said.

"Thank you for _wanting_ to help," Jenny said. "You're a good guy. Try to remember that."

"Am I going to forget this whole thing?" Bob said. He looked thoughtful. "I'm not even sure if that's what I want or not…"

"Marie might remind you," Jenny said. She grinned. "They say that kids are great for reminding tired adults that magic is real. Me, I kind of think that a lot of the time, all that parenting responsibility is what makes those adults so tired and forgetful in the first place. But what do I know?" She leaned forward and kissed Bob on top of his shaved head. "Bye, lover."

She turned and walked out of the apartment. Her heart wasn't breaking. There were just a few tiny cracks in it.


	21. Chapter 21

Roland looked up from his video games and raised his eyebrow as Jameel rushed through the door with a small, golden-locked little girl in tow. Jameel had to admit that that probably was a sight worth an eyebrow-raising.

"Hi, Roland," he said as he hurried over to his wardrobe, took out his bag and started stuffing clothes into it. "I'm in a bit of a hurry."

"So I see," Roland said. He looked at Malenna. "Who're you, short stuff?"

"I'm Mary-Kate," Malenna said serenely. "And its inappropriate for you to call me short stuff." She looked over his shoulder at the screen. "You appear to be running down pedestrians. I dont think thats appropriate, either."

"Well, those pedestrians should learn to get out of my way," Roland said, unflustered. "Jameel, what are you doing?"

Jameel stuffed a pair of extra socks into the bag. You could never have too many pairs of clean socks, his mom always said.

"I have to leave town for a couple of days," he said. "Hold down the fort for me, would you?"

Roland looked at him for a long moment.

"All right, he said. Thats it. So far, you've been hunted by gang members and then threatened with a messy death if you didn't rape and kill some girl, you've run out to deal with some kind of hostage situation after coming in here in the morning purring like a cat and saying that you'd gotten lucky, which frankly strikes me as the most improbable part of all..."

"Hey!" Jameel said.

"... and then you call me an hour later and say that the hostage situation was resolved, but you don't give me any details. And then I don't hear from you all day, and now you show up with a pre-teen who lectures me about whats inappropriate and you say you're leaving town. I can't take this anymore. My morbid curiosity has turned into a morbid need to know just what the fudge is happening before I die of sheer confusion. So in essence, Johnson, you're not getting out of this cold and uncomfortable dorm room until you surrender and tell me just whats going on!"

"I'ts kind of hard to explain..." Jameel said.

"Well, you're a smart guy," Roland said flatly. "Find a way."

"Sir?" Malenna said politely. She had walked over to the kitchen and taken an apple out of the fridge. "Catch." She threw it to Roland with a girly underarm throw.

"No, don't..." Jameel began, but Roland had already caught it by reflex and was now staring at Malenna.

"Woah," he said reverently. He cleared his throat. "Man, this is going to sound all sick and paedo, but I have to tell you, short stuff, you're the most beautiful thing Ive ever seen."

"You are kind to say so," Malenna said.

"And you're also some kind of angel or elf or something," Roland said. He blinked. "Which means that I'm on an LSD trip or something like that. Being a teetotaller, I find that very humiliating."

Jameel sighed and facepalmed.

"No," he groaned. "No, this is what the world really looks like. It's what it's always really looked like. When you can see it properly, it's full of scheming goblins and fairytale castles and knights in shining armour and evil dragons." He looked up. "I'm sorry about this. I wish she hadn't done that to you. But, yeah. Magic isn't just real, its everywhere."

"So she's seriously an elf?" Roland said.

"A Sidhe," Jameel said. "But yes, basically."

"And what are you?" Roland said with faint, horrified interest. "Some kind of Rumpelstiltskin type?"

"What? No!" Jameel glared. "I'm just a guy. Mostly."

"Mostly," Roland echoed hollowly.

"I'm something like 1/124 Sidhe," Jameel said. "So less of the hurtful Rumpelstiltskin remarks, okay?"

"But... you... it... how..." Roland shut his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again. "Even taking all this Tolkien crap into account, I still have no idea what's going on. Who are you running from? Where are you running to? What sort of messed up supernatural soap opera, in fact, are you living?"

Jameel shrugged unhappily.

"It's a long, depressing, overly complicated story," he said. "Look, for what it's worth, you won't remember this conversation tomorrow, so don't worry too much about it."

"What?" Roland looked cross. "Wait a minute, I'm not going to remember? Then what good is this conversation in the first place?"

"It serves to distract you while I and Mr Johnson leave," Malenna said helpfully. "Come on, Mr Johnson."

And, taking Jameel by the arm, she gently led him out of the dorm room.


	22. Interlude

Jax was not a man who was accustomed to being denied. He had known, even as a child, even before he became a Childling, that the only thing you needed to get your way was something that was at once laughably simple and so difficult that hardly anyone but he seemed to be capable of it – to be sure of getting something, you had to want it more than you wanted dignity, or safety, or calm, or even survival. You had to throw yourself after your prize again and again, clawing and biting and screaming, and every time someone knocked you down, you had to ignore the pain and get back up and attack again, until finally your enemies – and back in those early days, Jax had definitely counted his parents among his enemies – gave up and gave you what you wanted.

They always did, sooner or later. It didn't matter if they were stronger or faster or smarter – in the end, they always had a breaking point, so all you had to do was make sure that you didn't have one.

The setbacks he had faced since he came to this little flyspeck of a duchy didn't scare Jax. Nor did they exactly anger him, because Jax didn't bother getting angry – he much preferred to redress any wrong he had suffered by taking a bloody revenge on the people who had fucked with him. What he felt, at this point, came closer to astonishment.

His trusted chimerical companion was dead.

His stronghold lay in ruins.

That cunt Mennavere and that little piss-ant Jameel had escaped him two times each.

He, Jax, scourge of the Duchy of Smoke, had time and again been insulted, defied, beaten and denied the satisfaction he had been sure was his.

Astonishing.

Jax was no fool. The possibility had occurred to him that his plans were going awry and that the vexation he had faced was simply the most obvious sign of that. In fact, he had gone a step further and wondered, without fear but with a sort of detached concern, if his Glamour might be abandoning him – if the reason things were going to hell was that he was slipping into the Undoing that came to the guilty and innocent alike.

But nothing else seemed to indicate anything of the sort. True, his power in the Duchy of Howling Winds was all but broken – he had a weakening alliance with Broch and another with Josey, but both of those two idiots just listened to him in direct proportion to how useful he was to them, and until he could rally his Redcaps, he wasn't really a power in the land anymore. But with or without his prodding, things were still going his way. Josey and Broch were fighting as furiously as ever, and their battle in combination with Broch's insane taxes was ravaging the land towards the point where it would soon be beyond all repair. And the rebellion had almost no chance of being resolved one way or the other before then – Josey commanded too much of the loyalties of the common folk to lose easily, while Broch's military power base was too formidable to be destroyed with less than a cataclysmic battle that would probably kill a large chunk of the people in the duchy anyway. The arrival on the scene of a true heir would change things, but Storm's Voice had yet to be found.

No wonder, really, that last part. Broch had been wise to entrust Jax with hiding the damnable sword, and Jax was very proud of his creative solution to the problem of hiding a blade that could only be lifted and moved by the true Duke or Duchess.

No, annoying as they were, Jameel and Mennavere were nothing more than an anomaly, a tiny, statistically unavoidable exception to the rule. This, of course, didn't mean that he wasn't going to torture ten kinds of shit out of them both for what they'd done to him. It just meant that there was no reason to get worked up about it.

He dropped his cigarette and crushed it under his heel. He grabbed his feather-clad spear in both hands.

"Right," he said. "You ready to take the Solitary Tower back, Brian?"

Big Brian unfolded his huge, shaggy form from the shadows of the alley Jax was standing in front of. He hefted his great club up on his shoulder.

"Is the Jenny bitch there?" he grunted. "'Cause if she is, she's mine, okay?"

Jax winced.

"She's not," he said. "We've been over this. I talked to this fucked-up chimera that lives at the bus station. It's got twenty-six arms, and once I had twisted seventeen of them, it admitted that it had seen Mennavere and Jameel getting on a bus to Portland. They're not here, okay?" He looked up at the unlit window at the top of the silver tower. "Someone else is, though, and we need to deal with that before we head after them."

Brian grunted, disappointed, but didn't argue. Jax started walking.

The stairway of Mennavere's tower was so pretty that it disgusted him – all marble steps and colourful mosaics of heroic deeds. Jax hated all that shit, and he sort of wished that he had had the time to stop and defile the hell out of it, but he hurried his steps instead. He emerged into the main space at the top of the tower with Brian's hulking form two steps behind.

"Right," he said. "Now let's see if she's left…"

He heard a heavy, clattering noise and something thumping against the floor and turned towards it. He moved quickly – he had not survived so many battles by being slow on the uptake – but he still just had time to see something huge and white bearing down on him before he got a blow to the side of his head that made him see stars. His legs folded underneath him and he fell heavily.

Looking up, momentarily dazed, he saw Brian locked in combat with a huge, white creature. At first, Jax's stunned mind thought he was looking at a knight in armour, maybe even Mennavere herself – and boy howdy, would he make his displeasure at being fed faulty information clear to that chimera when he got hold of it! – but then he realised that actually, the dull surface of the creature's carapace wasn't metal, but some kind of plastic. And that in turn made him realise what he was looking at. It was a larger-than-life version of one of those stupid fucking action figures he caught Childlings playing with from time to time. In fact, it was one that he usually took especially great pleasure in eating, since it was the main villain and he enjoyed demonstrating to Childlings that they didn't need any imaginary villains while he was around. It was Maurader.

_Jameel must have conjured it,_ he thought dully. _Didn't know he could do that. Thought if he can, he could have picked something a bit less faggy. Like… well, anything, really._

As he watched, Maurader developed a rapid series of blows to Brian's midsection, _bam-bam-bam_, each motion as precise as a Nocker-made war-machine. Brian stumbled back and sat down heavily with a muffled grunt. Maurader didn't press its advantage; instead, he remained where it was standing, its helmeted head turning back and forth, as if looking for new threats.

Jax's head was ringing, he wasn't sure where his spear had gone off to, and he could taste blood in his mouth, but this was where he lived – this moment of mindless, heartless savagery where you proved, once again, that you were the nastiest motherfucker around. He crawled a few quick steps forward and clasped his arms around the Maurader's plastic leg. Jax opened his jaws wide – impossibly wide, for anything human – and then bit down on that smooth, cool surface.

Plastic crunched beneath his teeth. It tasted like shit, but Jax swallowed it anyway, taking a smug satisfaction in actually devouring part of the enemy he was fighting. Maurader turned, looking down at Jax with those wild but somehow empty eyes. It tried to kick him off, but its leg was too weakened – instead of hoisting Jax off of it, Maurader just managed to snap its own leg off at the ankle, leaving it stumbling, confused, on its one remaining leg. Jax gave off a hoarse, nasty laugh.

Brian had recovered and came charging back into the fight, bellowing at the top of his lungs and swinging that massive club. Maurader parried a wild swing with viper-like quickness, but it had no balance anymore – the force of the blow threw it off its foot and into the wall. Brian followed it, pounding down on it with blow after blow. Plastic cracked and shattered, bits and pieces of it flying or sliding out over the floor as Brian did what Brian did best.

Finally, Maurader had been reduced to a pile of scraps in the corner, and Brian stood panting over it, leaning on his club. Jax, back on his feet and having recovered his spear, smirked at his back.

"Therapeutic, isn't it?" he said.

Brian turned around and glared dully at him.

"What?"

"Never mind." Jax limped over to the cell door at the far end of the room, knocking on it with the spear. "Minnie… oh, Minnie… Forgive me my impertinence in disturbing your beauty sleep, Minnie, I'm just here _fucking risking my hide saving your ungrateful skank ass_!"

"Fuck you, Jax!" Minnie shouted from inside. "And get me out of here!"

Jax considered screwing with her for a few hours, threatening to leave her in there to die slowly from starvation and thirst, but fun though that might be, he didn't have the time. Pity, that. He checked the door, found it locked, looked around for the key for a few seconds before giving up and just chewing the lock out.

"There," he said, spitting out screws as he pulled the door open. "You're free. Try not to be captured by any more children's toys, okay?"

Minnie snarled, which just made Jax laugh.

"Get off it," he said. "We've got work to do."

"More Shadow Court business?" Minnie walked out of the cell and stretched, showing off her figure. Jax was unmoved, though. He was pretty sure that if he threw Minnie to the ground right there and then and fucked her brains out, the greatest reaction he would get from her would be bored contempt – and what was the fun of sex with someone who wasn't screaming and begging you to stop? "'Cause in case you haven't noticed, the Shadow Court around here is kind of in ruins right about now."

"Not Shadow Court," Jax said. "Not exactly, anyway. This is personal. We're going after your boytoy and that Sidhe bitch he hangs with."

"Jameel? We're going after Jameel?" Minnie eyes widened, and the next moment, a huge, nasty smirk appeared on her face. "Oooooh. Sign me up. I have some things I'd like to say to that boy."

Jax scoffed.

"Great," he said. "Brian just wants Mennavere, and you just want Jameel. Well, fucking fine by me. Tag along with me, and I'll make sure you both get what you want."

And when both those two bastards were reduced to dead, blood-soaked wreckage on the ground, Jax thought he might just kill Brian and Minnie, too. Just out of principle – or maybe just for the fun of it. Which really amounted to the same thing, when he thought about it…


	23. Chapter 22

People had an astonishing – and from a certain perspective, horrifying – ability to get used to anything that happened slowly enough. Things changed a little, and then they changed a little more, and since you couldn't spot the change from day to day, anyone who wasn't paying attention was likely to think that things had, more or less, always been pretty much this way.

And then you got a good look at what normality looked like, and you realised just how profoundly fucked up things had become.

Portland was a winter wonderland. Snow lay in a glistening carpet on the streets and gathered in looming drifts in the corners, just begging to be scooped up and turned into a snow man, or a fortress, or the snow ball fight of the century. Bright-chested robins gathered around the bird-seed tables that kind-hearted people had set out for them. A few houses still had their Christmas lights out, as if they were still in the afterglow of the festive season.

Jameel, hurrying down the street, couldn't stop looking around, marvelling at just how… how _nice_ everything was. Every last inch of Portland was shining with Glamour, turning every corner into a starting point for a grand adventure, every passer-by on the street into a stalwart companion or a fearsome foe that you just hadn't met yet. Jameel wanted to laugh and dance, to shout a spell and leap into the sky. He could _feel_ the Glamour humming in his skin.

He also knew that Portland wasn't some kind of Glamour capital of the world. It just looked like a fairytale city because he had gotten used to Dougal. And Jameel, who had always thought about good and evil in the fairly straightforward terms of helping and harming other people, thought that perhaps he could understand something about that freaky religion that the changelings were always on about, about the Dreaming and the Glamour and the battle against Winter.

If the world could be this beautiful, then someone like Jax was _evil_ for wanting to make it otherwise.

He hurried across the street, over to the budget-priced motel that he and Jenny had checked into. It wasn't really a family place – and he, Jenny and Malenna made for a very odd family, either way – but Jenny had turned on the charm and had the hotel manager wrapped around her little finger in two minutes flat, and so they had gotten a room and no questions.

Jameel went past the lobby, where the manager watched hockey on a static-filled TV set, and up the stairs, past a vending machine, and into the corridor where their room was located. The place was in lousy repair – the walls had stains of grime and water damage, the paint was peeling, and the carpet was worn almost right through. Jameel's mother would have tut-tutted at the whole scene.

He reached the door and knocked. Two quick knocks, pause. Three knocks, pause. One knock…

Jenny opened the door.

"Hey, I wasn't finished with the secret knock!" Jameel said.

"Oh, get in here," Jenny said, ushering him into the Spartan quarters. Malenna was sitting in front of the TV, watching some cartoon that seemed to involve an inordinate amount of ponies and the colour pink.

"I could have been Jax, for all you know," Jameel muttered. "And then you'd be sorry that you didn't follow my instructions about paying attention to secret knocks."

"Dude, I am in full armour and I've got Sauraq back," Jenny said. "I _hope_ Jax tries something. But he won't, because he's back in Dougal. Did you manage to meet with the Queen's Steward?"

"After some very quick talking and many discreet hints about your combat prowess and inability to deal well with disappointment, yes," Jameel said. He sat down on one of the beds. "You have an audience with Queen Mab in the morning. Once there, you're on your own."

"Just another battlefield." Jenny grinned cockily and spread her arms. "I'll be fine. Mab is Unseelie, so she won't go for the whole honour-and-loyalty spiel, but she should be very concerned when I tell her that the Duchy of Howling Winds is imploding. Aside from really hardcore ones like Jax, the Unseelie don't like the idea of Winter anymore than the rest of us. They just resent the idea that just because they happen to live in the world, they are in any way responsible to take care of it."

"Kind of like Republicans, when you think about it…" Jameel said, cynically but accurately.

"Seelie or Unseelie is not important here," Malenna said, taking her eyes off of the TV screen. "Mab is a Queen, and she will move to protect her Kingdom. In that, honour and lust for power moves a ruler in the same way."

"Or in other words, Broch and Josey are breaking her stuff, and she won't stand for it." Jenny grinned. "It'll all be fine."

Jameel gave her a glum look.

"I'm glad that Miss Can't Feel Fear Senior and Junior are feeling confident as usual," he said. "But even if you can talk Mab around, that's not the end, it's just the beginning. With her support, we've got a chance to get rid of Broch, but only a chance. He's powerful, _and_ he's connected. We've got a long fight ahead of us."

"Is he always this pessimistic?" Malenna said.

"Yes," Jenny said. She made a face at Jameel. "Look, no one's saying that after tomorrow all our problems will be over. That's just the way it always is. One story always leads right into another. No one ever lives happily ever after – and thank the Dreaming for that, because I'd go mad with boredom."

"Life isn't a story," Jameel said.

Jenny chortled.

"You still don't think so? Even after all these years among changelings? You really are a bit of a slow learner."

Jameel glared.

"Why do I put up with you, again?" he said.

"My theory is that it has something to do with the boobs," Jenny said, unflustered.

Malenna sighed, martyr-like.

"You are going to argue, aren't you?" she said. "And you'll probably end up arguing about sex, too. I don't think that my innocent ears should hear this." She got out of the chair and headed for the door. "So I'll let you work it out, while I go get a candy bar."

"See?" Jenny beamed. "That's the kind of courtesy that only a true Sidhe noble can display, that is!"

Jameel groaned.

* * *

Malenna slipped out of the room, wincing to herself. As far as rescuers went, she couldn't help but feel that she was forced to make due with the budget version. Still, they got the job done, and when you were a damsel in distress, you had to make do with whatever knight in shining armour came for you. Malenna had never heard of any damsel who had declared that she was holding out for someone even shinier, which probably meant that it was one of those things that were just not done.

She strolled down the corridor, letting the sounds of Jameel's long-suffering whine and Jenny's easy-going smugness fade out behind her. She had to admit, just being able to move around freely was a luxury. She had spent months in that cell before Brian had simply unlocked it and told her to come with him. After that, she had gotten to move around the Glade of Dancing Leaves, but that place had what could be considered _too much_ freedom – paths didn't always necessarily lead to the same destination twice, and there were wild chimera lurking among the trees, forcing you to stay in the main clearing unless you were in the mood for adventure.

There was a vending machine over by the stairs. Malenna took her wallet out of her pocket and managed to find some coins in it. At some point, she was going to have to discuss the topic of a weekly allowance with someone…

She had put the last quarter in the machine and was pondering whether snickers or twinkies made a more suitable snack for a noble lady such as herself when she heard steps behind her. She paid no attention, until she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder.

She turned, surprised, and felt how her heart nearly stopped. Three figures were looming over her – one so large and hairy that it looked more like a bluish gorilla than a man, one slender and smirking, the third squat and wearing a cloak of feathers and a spine-chilling grin.

"Well, hello there, your Ladyship," Jax said. "Fancy running into you here."


	24. Chapter 23

Jameel knew there was something that had had forgotten, but Jenny was warm and heavy on top of him, a fascinating mix of hard warrior muscle and soft female curves beneath the cloth of her shirt and jeans. Every time he tried to collect his thought, they were scattered by another kiss that spread tingles of pleasure from his lips and out throughout his entire body. Every fibre of his being was begging for his and Jenny's clothes to start coming off already. But still there was that nagging feeling.

"Weren't we supposed to be arguing?" he mumbled.

"I got bored with that," Jenny said. She nibbled at his ear. "So I decided we should go straight to kissing and making up."

"Don't I get any say in this?" Jameel said weakly. His hands were under Jenny's shirt, caressing her back. Her skin felt unbelievably good beneath his palms.

"Nope," Jenny said. "I wear the pants in this relationship. You're a sorcerer. You wear the long flowing dress."

"One, I'm pretty sure you're thinking about a robe," Jameel said. "Two, I don't wear one of those, either."

"Well, you should," Jenny said matter-of-factly. "Red satin, billowing around you when you moved. You'd look totally hot." She sat up, straddling him – and oh, the pressure that put on a certain area of his body was wonderful and unbearable at the same time – and started pulling her T-shirt off.

"We shouldn't," Jameel said, protesting just for the perverse pleasure of having Jenny completely ignore him. "Malenna will be back before…"

He gaped, his feigned reluctance turning into real fear that extinguished his ardour like a bucket of ice water.

"Malenna!" he said. "How long has she been gone?" He checked his watch. "It's been half an hour!"

"Probably found some nice local chimera to play with," Jenny said huskily, leaning over him. She was out of the shirt, with only a flimsy bra covering her large, firm breasts – but, as by magic, they had turned from items of unutterable fascination into just an unimportant detail of Jenny's appearance. What he wanted from her now was the strength of her sword arm – and her cooperation.

"She's got all sorts of scary people after her and we let her wander off alone, and then didn't notice when she didn't come back," he groaned. He squirmed until Jenny got off of him, then leaped off of the bed and went to grab his cloak off of the chair. "God, we're the worst babysitters ever!"

"She isn't a baby," Jenny said, wincing. "She isn't even _exactly_ a child. She's a Childling – she's got life experience running all the way back to the time of the Roman Empire in that cute little head of yours. Also, over-protective parents are a leading cause of Banality in the world. Just saying."

"Humour me?" Jameel said.

"Okay, okay." Jenny pulled her T-shirt back on again and went over to the corner where her armour lay in a pile. She quickly began strapping on the breastplate and the gauntlets.

There was a knock on the door. Jameel couldn't help but notice that it most certainly wasn't the secret knock.

He exchanged a glance with Jenny, who sighed.

"Just open it," she said. "Even money says it's Malenna coming back."

Jameel wasn't nearly as sure, but he went to open the door anyway – with one hand inside his cloak, clasping the hilt of his cold iron dagger.

He found himself looking into a grinning, too-much-makeup-wearing face framed by shaggy curtains of rough black hair. A face that featured in his nightmares almost as much as Jax's did… okay, some nightmares and some dreams of a different nature.

"Hi, honey!" Minnie said.

_I wonder if I can get a restraining order against her?_ Jameel thought dumbly. _I bet I can get a judge to buy that she used to beat me up. I mean, okay, the male-female thing would be against me, but she's got that whole Satyr jock thing going, and I've got 'designated victim' written all over me…_

"I have a Sidhe knight with a magical sword and I'm not afraid to use her," he said flatly.

"Give me a goddamn moment!" Jenny said from the other end of the room. "I'm not done with the armour-donning, here!"

"Okay, I _will in a couple of minutes_ have a Sidhe knight with a magical sword," Jameel said in a voice of broken defiance. "And then you'll be sorry if you've laid so much as a finger on me!"

Minnie giggled. It was hard to make a giggle sound sinister, but Minnie had always been able to pull it off – she managed to make a noise that said that bad things were going to happen to you, and that that was _funny_.

"Are you sure you don't want me to lay a finger or two on you?" she said. "You didn't used to mind."

"Yeah, well, desperation and discernment rarely go hand in hand," Jameel said, fully aware that as far as zingers went, that one lacked a certain… well, _zing_. "What do you want?"

"Oh, let's see." Minnie pouted and put a finger to her lips. "I want you to put down all weapons and anything that you can use to perform a Bunk. I want you to go quietly down to the back yard, where Jax and Brian are waiting. And I want you to submit, without making any fuss, to being tied up and taken to the nearest Shadow Court Freehold, where we will torture you to death."

Jameel stared. Minnie smiled angelically at him.

"I'm guessing there is an 'or else,'" he said.

"You're so smart," Minnie said. "Yes, there is an 'or else.' It goes like this. Do everything I just said, _or else_ Jax will do everything he can think of to hurt that cute little girl you've got with you. And when it comes to hurting people, Jax might just be the biggest thinker of our time."

Jameel closed his eyes. Yes, of course he had seen this coming. But finding out that your worst fears were true was still an experience not unlike having all your guts turn to ice inside of you.

"You're bluffing," he said, not because he believed it, but because he had to play every step of this out.

Minnie gave him a pitying look.

"Look out the window," she said.

"Jenny?" Jameel said, not taking his eyes off of Minnie. You couldn't trust Minnie. If she wanted him dead or hurt, then a split second after he looked away her hands would be holding those nasty crooked knives.

He heard Jenny's armour clanking as she headed over to the window.

"Fuck," she said. "She's telling the truth. The three of them are standing out there… Oh, now Jax waved to me. Bastard. Malenna doesn't look hurt, at least. Mostly she looks like she's pouting."

"How about it?" Minnie said, grinning obnoxiously. "What's your answer?"

Jameel looked at her blankly for a moment.

"No," he then said. His voice sounded odd and hollow to his ears.

Minnie blinked, her smirk fading.

"You're kidding me," she said. "You're going to let us torture and kill your poor, precious little girl just so you can save your own hide?"

"I'm not going to _let_ you do anything," Jameel said. "But the thing is, I know you. If we surrender, you're going to torture and kill all three of us anyway. It doesn't matter how many Oaths we make you swear that you won't, you won't be able to help yourselves."

"Kind of the problem with being based around having absolutely no honour," Jenny said helpfully. "It gives you an edge in making deals – once. But after that, you won't be able to make any deals at all, because no one trusts you anymore."

Minnie sighed.

"A minor drawback of our philosophy, I admit…" she said.

"So here's the thing," Jameel said. He drew the cold iron dagger, pointing its rough edge at Minnie's throat. "Our best bet right now is to put you down, and then go down there to put Jax and Brian down. How do you like them apples?"

He wasn't sure whether he meant it or not. His mind was going at a mile a minute, charting a course for him on intuition and desperate guesswork. All he knew for sure was one thing – he wasn't going to stand by and see Jax hurt a little girl that he should have protected, not ever again.

Whatever else you could say about this stratagem, it certainly made the smugness drain off of Minnie like dishwater draining down a sink. She licked her bright red lips nervously.

"That's still risky," she said, in a tone of desperate persuasion. "If you just run out there, guns a-blazin', Jax might kill the girl out of sheer surprise."

"Beats torture," Jenny said practically. "And does he have an iron weapon down there? No, I can't see one. He just has that spear, which I think might even be a _chimerical_ spear…"

"Still, why take the risk?" Minnie said. "I can talk to Jax. He lets the kid go, and then we settle this like gentlemen, right? The three of you against the three of us."

"That's not what I'd call an even fight," Jameel said. "Does Malenna even know how to fight?"

"I don't think she was ever properly fostered, so maybe not…" Jenny said. "But it still sounds good to me. I've kicked this bitch's ass once already, and Brian keeps trying to substitute brawn for skill."

Jameel hesitated. This was all happening too quickly for him. He wanted time to think, to consider, to – not to put too find a point to it – brood. But there was no time for any of that. Ready or not, the moment of truth was here.

He had his Arts, he had his weapons, and he had Jenny's indomitable support. That would have to do.

"Okay," he said. "Deal."


	25. Chapter 24

The hotel back yard held a sort of lacklustre garden, just a hundred square meters of grass and trees surrounded by a plank fence. The snow gave it an odd beauty, though, the trees glittering with ice and the snow spreading out across the lawn like a blanket of jewels.

The huge, looming Ogre and the Redcap, with his wide mouth filled with sharp teeth, were waiting on the other side, over by the gate leading out to the back street. Jax kept a heavy hand on Malenna's shoulder. Malenna didn't look frightened – she couldn't feel fear, any more than Jenny could – but she did look angry and gloomy.

"You send her over first!" Jameel said. He didn't speak loudly, but his voice carried across the empty yard. "Then we send over Minnie. And then… then we settle this. Once and for all."

"I've got a better idea," Jax said. "You send old Minnie over, or I kill the brat right now."

"And then we kill Minnie," Jameel said, his voice trembling with rage. "And then it'll be two against two instead of two against three. A fair fight, Jax. I know you hate those."

"You could just kill her anyway, once you have the brat," Jax pointed out.

Jenny laughed. She felt lighter than air. She didn't know if it was because she was in a place where the air was filled with more Glamour than she had gotten used to making do with, or if it was just that she was doing exactly what she should have been doing all along – fighting the bad guys, sword in hand.

"Come on, Jax," she said. "You know perfectly well that you can trust me, just like I know perfectly well that I can't trust you. Death Before Dishonour, does that ring a bell?"

"I'll oblige you there, bitch, count on it," Jax said. But he gave Malenna a push forward, sending her hurrying across the yard. When she was halfway across, Jameel took the iron dagger from Minnie's throat. The evil Satyr blew him a kiss and ran as fast as her goat legs could carry her over to join her friends.

"I am disgraced," Malenna said, in a deeply serious tone that sounded strange in her childish voice, when she had hurried over to stand behind Jenny. "I was careless, and therefore made into a weapon against you."

"No, don't feel bad," Jameel said gently. "This was going to happen no matter what. Jax wouldn't have it any other way."

"Besides, the Dreaming couldn't let this end without a dramatic showdown," Jenny said cheerfully.

Jameel winced.

"And that, I guess."

Jenny raised Sauraq to her lips and kissed its black blade. Flames spread from the spot until the covered the entire sword, from tip to hilt.

"This is the end of the line, you know," she shouted conversationally to the dark fae across the yard. "Killing you will hurt a little, but I think I can just about take it. And in the meantime, the three of you are going to have to go back to having your diapers changed for a bit." She smirked. "Not that I'm convinced Brian ever did get housebroken…"

"Yeah, you got a big mouth, like every other Sidhe bitch I've ever met!" Minnie shouted back. "_You_ sure as hell aren't going back to anything. You'll get the iron death today! How does that feel?"

Jenny glanced at Jameel.

"What do you think?" she whispered. "Will that do for mutual taunting?"

He looked at her like she was insane. Jenny just laughed.

Raising the flaming sword, she charged.

* * *

Jameel watched with some distress as Jenny ran across the yard, Sauraq trailing embers behind her. With a bellow, Brian ran to meet her, slamming his huge club down in a blow that sent snow and dirty flying. Jenny slipped out of the way, though, danced to the side and lashed out with the burning sword. Brian gave off a roar of pain as it opened a gash in his side, but before Jenny could exploit the opening, Jax advanced her with his feathered spear and she had to turn to defend herself.

Meanwhile, Minnie was running back towards Jameel, the snow flying around her hoofs. She was laughing shrilly, a hooked knife in each hand. Jameel sank to his knees and gathered snow together in his arms – and as he did so, the snow around Minnie piled up around her, catching her in an icy grip. The barrier didn't have time to solidify, however, before Minnie broke through it, closing the distance to Jameel.

Clumsily, he held out his iron dagger to defend himself, but Minnie _leaped_, flipping over the knifepoint and over his head. For a horrified second, he felt her hands coming down on his shoulders, pushing him down to carry herself onwards, making him stagger. Before he could even catch his balance, he heard her land behind him and suddenly hot pain exploded in his back.

He turned, trying to get his bearings, trying to construct in his head what had just happened. Minnie was standing there, smirking, blood staining both her knives. His back was moaning, red-hot agony – he had no idea how badly she had hurt him, only that he hadn't fallen yet.

"C'mon, Jameel," Minnie said in her sickly-sweet tone. "This isn't you. You're not the fight-to-the-death type. You're a survivor."

"Who says I'm not planning to survive?" Jameel gasped. With weak fingers, he reached into his cloak, fumbling for a marble.

Minnie shook her head.

"Why can't you just admit it?" she said. "You keep telling yourself that we tricked you, drew you in with sex and secrets and that you never ever realised what was going on until it was too late. Please! You're way smarter than that. Truth is, you knew exactly what I was the first time I let you stick it in me. And you loved it."

"I was… weak," Jameel said. "You offered me things I thought I could never have. I didn't see because I didn't look, and I didn't look because I was too desperate to act like someone with self-respect…"

"You don't get it," Minnie said. "That _is_ what you loved – the desperation, the self-pity, the selling your soul for scraps. You're not a hero, Jameel. You're not a good boy. You're a bitter, angry, frightened little bitch who's in love with your own self-loathing. Embrace it. You won't be happy, but you'll never be happy anyway, and at least this way you'll be _yourself_. That's what the Unseelie Court offers, and deep inside, you know you want it."

Jameel's hand closed on the marble, hesitating.

* * *

Jenny danced amidst flames and steel, whirling through the snow in a wild game of cat and mouse where who was the cat and who was the mouse was never certain. Big Brian barrelled after her, roaring and swinging around wildly with his club. Jax circled, lashing out with his spear whenever he spotted an opening. Jenny dodged Brian's heavy blows, parried Jax's skilful thrusts or caught them on her armour, and retaliated with the fiery blade of Sauraq.

Despite the power of the sword, despite her own skill, she wasn't winning. Jax's spear had enchantments of its own, she could tell, and Big Brian was a killing machine, fearless and implacable. It hardly mattered. She was Lady Mennavere ap Fiona, Knight of the Solitary Tower, and if she had to die on this snowclad yard, she would die crowned in all her fire and glory.

"You know what I'm going to do to you once I've beaten you?" Jax said, smirking with all his big, sharp teeth.

"Something unnecessarily horrible?" Jenny said. She ducked under a swing of Big Brian's club, rammed an elbow into the Ogre's gut and quickly retreated when he made a grab for her. "Save it, Jax. I don't get scared, remember?"

"You don't get it, do you?" Jax hoisted the spear. "You keep thinking there's a right thing to do. There isn't – that shit went obsolete in the Shattering. Eternal Winter is coming. We're all fucked. But we can go out with a whimper, choking to death on Banality, or we can scream and rave and destroy ourselves so that the fucking mortals don't get the pleasure!"

"No, you don't get it," Jenny said. "The battle is lost? The fight is hopeless?" She grinned fiercely. "What makes you think that _ever_ mattered to anyone but self-pitying little Unseelie brats? You know I plan on going out? Swinging a sword with one hand and giving Banality the finger with the other!"

She didn't see the thick arm reaching out for her in time. Big Brian swooped her up in a grip that made her armour creak and groan. Another ham hand grabbed her wrist and twisted Sauraq from her grip. It fell to the ground, melting the snow with its magical flame.

Jax smirked.

"Yeah, I know you don't scare," he said. "But Seelie bitches can never resist the temptation to spout off something melodramatic and inspiring when they should be concentrating on fighting."

Jenny tried to think of some good last words, but she drew a blank.

"Well, shit," she said.

* * *

Jameel flung the marble into the air, pouring all the Glamour he had into the cantrip. The little glass ball gleamed in the sun, and Minnie's eyes followed it like it was the most intriguing thing in all the world.

Jameel threw himself forward, cursing the snow that was slowing his steps. He saw Minnie shake her head, starting to recover, starting to notice him…

… and then the iron dagger bit through her jacket, tearing through skin and flesh and piercing her heart.

Minnie gaped. The daggers fell from her hands, and she fumbled at his shoulders as her goat legs began to fold under her.

"Maybe you're right," Jameel told her between his teeth. "Maybe I'm a bitch. But I'm damn well not going to be _your_ bitch."

Minnie opened her mouth to speak. Perhaps she wanted to utter some final curse, or plead for a mercy it was too late for him to grant. Or maybe, knowing her, she wanted to say some final, skeevy endearment – _I knew you had it in you. You would make a good Unseelie._ Had she died in some other way, the Dreaming would have made sure she got to say it, whatever it was, because dramatic last words were Glamorous.

But the Iron Death tore apart her Glamour, and her eyes glazed over, and she fell to the ground with the words unspoken.

* * *

Brian's thick arms were crushing her. Jax advanced, spinning the spear between his hands like a staff, his ugly face split with a horrible smirk.

"End of the line," he said. "And oh man, you've got such a long list of shit I need to pay you back for."

Jenny smiled sweetly.

"In the name of His Majesty David Ardry ap Gwydion, may the Dreaming shelter him…" she said.

"Oh please," Jax said. "You realise I can counter your fucking Sovereign in my sleep?"

"… in the name of His Grace Drackus ap Fiona, may the Dreaming grant him swift rebirth…"

Jax crossed his arms.

"Seriously?" he said. "This is pathetic. You _know_ I'll block it. Are you so fucking thick that you just can't believe that your Sidhe shit doesn't work?"

"… and in my own name," Jenny said. She grinned brilliantly. "**Kill Jax.**"

With a roar, Big Brian threw her aside, sending her tumbling through the snow. She rolled around, got to her feet, and ran for Sauraq. She snatched up the black sword and raised it, turning to face her enemies.

She needn't have hurried – Jax was busy. Brian was throwing his entire massive bulk at him, not even bothering with his club but his swinging his great fists at the Redcap.

"Get back, you fucking moron!" Jax yelled. He was retreating frantically, stumbling on the slippery surface, spear raised in front of him. "Get her out of your head!"

Brian didn't listen. He threw himself forward, grasping for Jax's throat – threw himself right at the spear. There was a wet sound as it pushed into him, and a crack as the shaft broke off. Then Brian's enormous weight came crashing down on Jax like a falling oak, pinning him to the ground.

Once she saw that neither of the men was getting up again, Jenny strolled over towards them, spinning Sauraq in her hand, enjoying the _woosh_ of the flames. Jax was struggling to get free, screaming and swearing.

"Well, well," Jenny said cheerfully. "Well, well, well, well. What was it you were saying about when you had me at your mercy? What was it you were planning to do to me? I think I'd like to hear it now. I could use a few suggestions."

Jax snapped his jaws together, trying to bite her but unable to reach.

"Now, now, don't be like that," Jenny said. "Don't you know this part? This is the part where you formally yield, while at the same time laughing at me because I am honour-bound to accept your surrender, even though I know you'll take the first chance to break any oaths I make you swear and stab me in the back. Hmm?"

Jax struggled. His wide, toothy mouth opened and close without any sound coming out.

"Having some trouble getting the words out?" Jenny said. "That's okay. See, the Seelie Code has a lot to say about honour. But it also has that lovely little part about _Never Forget A Debt._" She grinned. "Remember hanging me upside down from the ceiling? Remember having that Satyr bitch stab me in the gut? Remember throwing me in a dirty cell? Remember, in essence, really being a fucking pain in my ass for the last week? Because, being a good little Seelie girl, I haven't forgotten at all!"

Jax began to scream an obscenity, but Sauraq rose and fell, and he went silent.


	26. Epilogue

_Author's Note: I can't believe I'm finished. _

_I can't believe it took me the better part of seven years to finish._

_Is this a particularly satisfying ending? Not really. Unlike just about everything else I've ever written, _Crossroads_ was written one chapter at the time, with me sprinkling plot hooks in there without knowing what I would end up using them for, and the end leaves most of them unresolved (though I would argue that the protagonists' personal arcs conclude in a more or less satisfying fashion). Still, it's an end, and for the longest time I didn't think I'd manage to get to it._

_My thanks to everyone who's read and commented over all these... surprisingly many years, in particular Greenwine who I first met because of this story and now count as a very good friend, and who was the one who managed to prod me into finally finishing the damn thing. And thank you to the creators of _Changeling: the Dreaming_, for making what is by far my favourite oWoD game._

* * *

Jenny looked up at the house. It lay beyond a high iron fence, at the end of a long driveway. The garden was partly covered with ice and snow, but it was melting away. Spring was coming to Dougal, at long last. The air smelled fresh and felt downright warm after the long winter.

"Are you nervous?" Jameel said.

Jenny smiled and shook her head.

"Nervous is just a different kind of scared," she said. "It doesn't happen to me."

"But you don't look forward to it either."

Jenny sighed.

"No," she admitted.

Jameel smiled gently.

"You don't have to do this."

"I don't know." Jenny shrugged. "I think maybe I do. I threw everything into being a good knight to a good liege-lord. Then my liege-lord was gone, and everything that made me worth a damn just disappeared. I don't want to be that vulnerable a second time." She grinned wryly. "I don't think I can count on an over-clever rebel leader sending a pretty sorcerer boy to get me out of my funk a second time."

"I'm not pretty," Jameel said.

"Everyone's pretty. Haven't I taught you that yet?"

Jameel rolled his eyes but made no reply.

"Anyway," Jenny said. "After it is all over – however it ends – I'm leaving the duchy. So if I'm going to do this, it has to be now."

Jameel blinked.

"You're leaving?" he said. "Why? There's every chance everything will be okay. We're not fugitives anymore. We're here under the Queen's protection. And she doesn't seem to be too happy with Broch."

"Not after seeing that Malenna was right about the state of this place, no." Jenny chuckled nastily. "Got to hand it to the snot-nosed little brat, she really nailed that heartfelt plea for royal intervention. I don't think there was a dry eye in Mab's court when she was done."

"Exactly," Jameel said. "I don't know if she'll decide that Malenna is the rightful heir – no one's found the stupid sword yet, as far as I know – but she'll definitely throw out Broch. I don't know what will happen to Josey, but once there's no tyrant for him to be the only alternative to, he won't be as dangerous and powerful anymore. There'll still be some danger, but…" He grinned weakly. "Isn't that what you live for?"

"Honestly, the problem is that there won't be _enough_ danger," Jenny said. "And too much politics. I need some good, simple adventure. Dragon-slaying. Damsel-rescuing. The whole wandering knight thing."

"I'll miss you," Jameel said.

Jenny made a face.

"You'll miss sex you don't have to sell your soul for."

"Well, that too." Jameel smiled sheepishly. "Try not to die heroically for a noble cause somewhere, okay?"

"Try not to die of boredom while you're bent over all those textbooks and grimoires," Jenny said. She took his face between her hands and kissed him. "And thank you. It's been weird, and messy, and confused, and none of it made much sense, and I haven't had so much fun in years."

"I'm not sure about 'fun,'" Jameel said. "But it's definitely been… _interesting_."

"Heh." Jenny looked up at the house again. "Okay, time to do this."

"You're sure you don't want me to come with you?" Jameel said.

"Yes." Jenny smiled unhappily. "But I think I'd like it if you waited for me out here."

He nodded, and she walked up the driveway, past the thawing garden. She was not afraid, no, but her heart was still pounding in her chest as if she was going into battle.

She rang the doorbell and remained standing where she was, her head light and empty. She tried to smile with her usual confidence. One way or another, this needed to be done.

A woman opened the door. She was tall, with long grey hair that had once been blonde and strong, handsome features. The look on her face turned from bemusement to shock as she saw who was standing in front of her.

"Jenny…?" she said in a choked voice.

Jenny grinned sheepishly.

"Hi, Mom," she said.


End file.
